


He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth

by MrsStylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry pov, Harry's parents are rich and snobby af, I'm Sorry, Jealous Harry, Larry with a side of Ziam, Lilo friendship, Louis POV, Louis' boyfriend is a dick, M/M, Model Louis, Model Zayn, OT5 Friendship, Personal Trainer Liam, Photographer Harry, Some Abuse, Tattoo Artist Louis, a serious dollop of jealousy, and Taylor is with Calvin, busker niall, jealous Louis at some point, just briefly model Louis, narry friendship, no Haylor I promise, probably as much angst as I can bear, probably too much fluff cause I'm weak, there's a kitten named after Hugh Grant, zarry friendship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 290,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsStylinson/pseuds/MrsStylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis moves into the flat next to Harry's, neither of them thinks it will change their lives. Louis is stuck in a relationship with his controlling and overly possessive boyfriend who he loves too much to break up with. Harry is content, seeking refuge from the snobby world he grew up in and forging a new path for himself. He does happen to have a habit of wanting to fix people though and when he meets Louis, the gorgeous man with a prat of a boyfriend, he finds himself trying to do just that. While Harry tries to avoid getting tangled in a messy situation, Louis tries to deny that there's a niggling voice in the back of his head that prefers Harry to his own boyfriend. While both determinedly refuse to let change come, they fail to notice that exact force wrapping around them and pulling them tighter together until there just might be no escape from the feelings brewing within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyrralea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyrralea/gifts).
  * Translation into Italiano available: [He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264145) by [JennaHerondale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaHerondale/pseuds/JennaHerondale)



> I started this fic with a promise that there would only be verbal abuse, not graphic violence. However it's been brought to my attention that some of this may be considered quite graphic and there is also some minor/attempted non-consensual sex. I still hope you will read this because my fear is that by saying this, I might scare you off but if it's too much, I understand. I can summarise plot for you and I'm happy to talk about anything you might find hard to deal with.  
> Please leave as much feedback as possible and yeah, enjoy what should be a hefty collection of feels. This fic has everything that makes me happy; Larry, cats (well one...I didn't want to go overboard) and Taylor Swift :)
> 
> Gifted/dedicated to my favourite commenter/new friend. Here's to hopefully making you smile like an idiot in public places ;)
> 
> Title from thinking of you by Katy Perry
> 
> xx

“I can’t do this with you anymore,” Louis cries out, his legs falling open on the couch, head bowing under the weight of his misery, “I can’t keep explaining when you won’t listen.”

“So leave then!” Duncan roars, hands on hips where he stands, blocking the television with his stocky build.

Louis remembers walking into a bar with Taylor when he’d been just a lowly uni student, still thinking he was going to teach drama to kids. He recalls looking across the bar and meeting the slightly more than curious eye of a tall, heavily built guy with short, dirty blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Louis can admit to himself that even then, he wasn’t all that attracted to him. He hadn’t felt certain lust pool in his stomach and when Taylor had spotted the guy Louis was gazing at, she herself had raised her finely waxed, blonde eyebrows as if to say, “him? Really?” Louis was well known by that point for being more interested in brunettes than blondes and for hooking up with mostly younger guys who wouldn’t mind being fucked by someone a bit smaller than them.

Duncan was not his type. He was five years older than Louis, working in a corporate office doing some type of five to nine corporate job that Louis still truly doesn’t understand the specifics of. He had a body that was, while reasonably maintained, by no means toned. However he’d approached with a confident smile that wasn’t all too displeasing and a sway in his hips that made Louis wonder if it wouldn’t be so bad to be the one fucked and not the one doing the fucking for once. What can he say? He’d always been open to new experiences.

“Drink?” Duncan had asked with a raised eyebrow while he clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the bartender.

Louis had been impressed when the usually grumpy, snob of a man had crossed to their side of the bar immediately and had asked for Duncan’s order.

“Um, the usual,” Louis directed the bartender, caught slightly off guard.

Once Duncan and Louis both had drinks and Louis had given Taylor his assent after she asked him (non-verbally of course) if he wanted her to vacate the premises, they leaned against the bar, appraising each other openly. Louis had been going through a bit of a phase where he favoured cardigans. He shudders to think of it now, three years on and much more mature in his fashion sense. However, he had been wearing some characteristically tight jeans and his hair was reasonably styled. Duncan’s style hasn’t changed much since then. In fact Louis’ quite sure he’s wearing the same baggy blue jeans now as he was that day. He also had been wearing a slightly ratty looking, oversized hoodie which made Louis cringe a little. I mean, they were in a bar and though Louis’ cardigan was far from sophisticated, it was also two steps further from casual than what Duncan wore.

“Nice jeans,” Duncan had complimented him, his eyes roving up and down Louis’ legs with intensity.

“Nice…uh…”

Louis’ brain completely failed him in that moment. However it was the moments that followed that changed everything. He forgot his former judgements and let himself be charmed. It was the moment Duncan Bishop morphed from a daggy lad trying to hit on him, to a good laugh and possibly more.

“It’s okay because if I were you, I’d have hightailed it out of here by now. Would have told you I had a boyfriend suffering from a severe case of something or other and then ducked down the street to a different bar with my mate to complain about the badly dressed tosser trying to hit on me.”

Duncan said it all with a twinkle circling around his pupils, the green of his eyes lit up with amusement. He wasn’t at all bothered by Louis’ lukewarm assessment of him and that’s what turned Louis. That’s why he set all his previously conceived notions of sexual attractiveness aside and looked up at the guy from beneath his lashes with a hint of flirtation on his lips.

“And that badly dressed tosser trying to hit on me…would he happen to have a name?”

……

Staring down the barrel of a figurative gun in his living room, Louis can’t understand how they got here. It seems like just yesterday he’d swirled his tongue around Duncan’s mouth outside that bar and Duncan had groped his arse possessively. It seems like just yesterday that Duncan asked to see him again and Louis winked and said if the fates aligned, it just might happen. Louis remembers the curl of a smile on his face as he slid down the back of his door that night, feeling struck with wonder.  Duncan was so different from all his former casual hook ups. Louis thought maybe that would be the difference. This one didn’t seem naïve or easy to derail. He seemed like a man with a plan. Maybe Louis would actually feel something for once.

Feel something he had and a year later he’d found himself snuggled up on the couch in Duncan’s arms, watching some kind of golf tournament in their new flat. He supposes even then there had been issues; what with Duncan being seemingly unfamiliar with the concept of compromise. It was golf over footie, The Wanted over The Script and Louis always driving while Duncan got to drink. Louis wasn’t the type to be pushed around and he had never thought he would enter into a relationship where he wasn’t the domineering figure. Yet there he was, two years down the track, being told that he could go out dancing with Taylor but not Liam, his new friend from the gym. There he was just months ago being yelled at for being too friendly with the pizza delivery guy. Here he is now in his new flat that they moved into because Duncan refused to watch Louis “flirt” with Adam, the barista at their local coffee shop. Louis fears that he’ll soon be able to say he’s lived in more places around London than places he hasn’t.

Louis doesn’t really remember the exact point the crazy jealousy started, the exact point at which Duncan morphed from a loving boyfriend into a controlling prison guard. Nor does he remember the first time he cried. It feels like he hasn’t stopped since and with every outburst, with every fight, it seems as though Duncan strips away more of the person Louis used to be. He gets weaker with every insult; every accusation. Louis doesn’t remember what it feels like to be empowered by your own strength or to love yourself more than somebody else.

Three years seemed like such an insignificant amount of time for a relationship before he’d lived it. Now three years holds a myriad of memories that hold him captive in every sense of the word. Stealing kisses between tangled blankets, tongues meeting in a frantic rhythm when they had only the shortest amount of time to spare before work. Days spent cuddling up on the couch listening to the rain pattering against the windows, luxuriating in each other’s warmth. Those times that Louis walked into the room and Duncan looked up from his paperwork in bed, threw it clear across the room and tugged Louis onto the bed, pawing at his body. It’s laughter spilled into each other’s necks and smiles pressed into each other’s palms as they tried not to laugh in places where they shouldn’t. It’s Duncan holding Louis as he talked about his job and the interesting people he met that day, recounting the stories they told him that stayed with him. It’s the tattoo they both bear on their wrist that cites the day they met because Louis had been that sure. Louis had sworn never to get something silly and sappy like a couples tattoo but then he had never thought he would feel that way either. He had been in love. For the first time and what felt at the time, like the last.

It feels as though they’ve lived a life in these three years and even as those small green eyes narrow with vehemence directed his way, Louis can’t help but fall prey to his biggest weakness. It’s not any one feature that Duncan has and maybe it’s not even that the good outweighs the bad. It’s simply a history that’s wrapped itself so tight around Louis’ heart that he just can’t fight free. He doesn’t have the energy. Even as Duncan challenges him, a spiteful sneer on his face as he waits for Louis’ response, Louis knows that Duncan doesn’t want him to leave. Duncan is just as done for as he is. The only problem is; it seems that Louis is always the one hurt and Duncan is always the one doing the hurting.

“You know I won’t,” Louis says quietly, his eyebrows bunching together in a plea, “don’t make this so hard on me. I’m not saying I don’t love you, I’m just saying I can’t be with you like this. I need you to change-“

“Change?! Me change?!” Duncan shouts, throwing his head back and laughing uproariously and inappropriately loud, sending a chill down Louis’ spine as he flips his head back up, his eyes cold with malice, “I’m not the one bloody smirking and winking at the cashier like some kind of sl-“

Louis whimpers, his eyes scrunching tightly closed as shame floods his body. Shame for his weakness, shame for the way Duncan can get to him like this. He fists his grey jumper in his hand as he begs. Begs like a hungry puppy waiting for food. He’s hit rock bottom.

“Please,” he gasps out, pain pricking at the corners of his eyes as the tears he holds in burn his vision, “please don’t call me that.”

“I will call you that babe,” Duncan says, his voice still raised but a bitter, sarcastic edge to it now that would have made the man Louis used to be truly livid, “because that’s what you are. A disgusting, cock hungry slut.”

Louis pushes his fists against his eyes but it’s no good. His eyes burn too much and they’re forced open as the tears protrude out the sides, streaming down his face without pause. It’s such a silly, meaningless term. He never thought something so archaic would get inside his chest like this. He supposes though that he never thought the man he loved would be hurling abuse at him because he deigned to joke around with a cashier. He never thought this would be his life.

Louis knows how this fight ends. It ends with Duncan storming away and keeping away for hours as Louis tries to collect himself. It ends with Duncan slipping into their bed that night and sliding his arms around Louis, whispering that he ‘understands’, that it’s ‘okay’ and that he knows Louis didn’t mean it. It ends with lips pressed to his pulse point and a hand shoved down the front of his pants, working him over until he’s hard and panting for it. It ends with Duncan pushing inside him roughly and crying out that he loves him as he strokes the sides of Louis’ hair and looks down at him with reverence. It ends with Louis wondering how this gentle, loving creature that he fell in love with, could possibly be the man who screams at him until he feels truly small inside. Until all he wants to do is to melt away into a puddle of self-loathing. F

“P..p..please,” Louis stutters out another sob, his whole body shaking as he balls his fists against his jeans, digging his nails into his palms to try and distract himself from the pain flooding through his chest, “I’m not, you know I’m not. I love you baby.”

“If I hear one more fucking pathetic plea out of your disgusting mouth, I’m going to make you regret it,” Duncan says, the threat implicit as he leans forward so that the whites of his eyes are on full display.

The angry curl of his lip is evident as he bounces a little on the balls of his feet like he’s about to take to the ring. No, Duncan has never hit him. He’s never touched him like that but Louis cowers against the couch anyway, trembling all over. He’s watched Duncan take out guys more than half his size with one well aimed punch in the boxing arena. He picked up the sport in his spare time. It had been a real turn on for Louis in the early days, accompanying Duncan to the fights and cheering him on as he took out opponent after opponent.

That is, until the violent edge in Duncan’s eyes started to come home with him and the insults transitioned to threats. Louis’ body is wracked with sobs and he barely hears the hand beating angrily and aggressively on the door outside. It isn’t until he watches Duncan stalk towards the door, ripping it open and almost off his hinges that he gets to his feet.

“You’re making a hell of a racket,” a deep, melodic voice says with annoyance, “If you would kindly keep it down, I would-“

Louis appears behind Duncan’s shoulder, rising up on the balls of his feet to get a look at the guy, presumably their neighbour, who is currently berating them. The guy looks to be in his early twenties but he could be twenty going on sixteen as he has a head of loose brown curls that finish at the base of his neck, framing his face and contrasting with the ivory pallor of his skin. Or at least, it was ivory. Now as his luminous green eyes fasten on Louis over Duncan’s shoulder, they widen and he flushes, a deep pink colour creeping up his neck to fill his cheeks. His full bottom lip turns down in a frown as his speech halts.

“Oh,” he says, his voice an octave higher. His eyes run from Louis’ messy hair, to his obvious tear trails down to the oversized hoodie that covers his hands entirely, “oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to interrupt, I-“

“You done fucking wasting my time?” Duncan demands viciously, “I’m not going to fucking apologise for having a conversation with my boyfriend.”

It’s unlike Duncan to be so aggressive to just anyone. He usually reserves that for the boxing ring, Louis and guys that hit on Louis but Louis supposes their curly haired neighbour caught him at a bad time. Right in the throes of a Louis bashing. Plus, this guy is the kind of guy that Duncan hates. He’s got on no shoes, deep blue jeans that look so tight and form fitting they must be women’s jeans and a flannel shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway, revealing what looks like a tattoo of two birds and more than a few necklaces that sway against his chest. He’s wearing an assortment of gaudy looking rings on his fingers and he’s even got on a toe ring. He’s also got the body of a boxer minus the stocky upper body and mean looking face. He’s everything Duncan despises, partly because he’s everything Duncan will never be.

“Right, um…well I’m, I should go-“The guy stammers, looking truly lost as his jade eyes dart to Louis’ and away and he begins to turn on his heel.

“Oi, curly,” Louis shouts…or tries to shout anyway. It comes out more as a weak croak.

The twenty going on sixteen year old looks back at him, confused and still flushing all over. It’s a rather nice colour on him, Louis thinks, in a distant corner of his mind.

“Sorry for the noise pollution,” he says tentatively, biting at the edge of his sleeve.

Curly’s mouth twitches but he still looks much like a stunned rabbit, his eyes roving all across Louis’ face like it’s the first time he’s ever seen anybody cry. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though because as soon as he opens his mouth to do so, Duncan slams the door in his face.

……

“Hi love,” Louis opens the door with a wide, exposed grin on his face and holds out his arms expectantly.

As he feared, he’s soon got a mouthful of blonde, straightened hair and is feeling rather dwarfed because of course, she couldn’t wear flats. It had to be heels. It always has to be heels.

“Lou!” Taylor says against his hair, squeezing his waist, “I’ve missed you like crazy!”

Louis tugs her onto the couch with a roll of his clear blue eyes.

“It’s been a week since we had lunch.”

“Exactly!” She says, exaggerating an offended sniff.

“You look like a sunflower,” is Louis’ blunt response.

The girl’s got on a bright yellow crop top that shows off her stomach and a matching skirt. Not to mention the heels in the same sickly bright colour. All of it clashing quite deplorably with her ruby lips. That’s not to say she’s got bad taste. Usually Louis would be happy to have her on his arm.  In fact, he loves to claim her as his most fashionable friend but she does have this pesky habit of sometimes dressing for her mood instead of everybody else’s vision. It’s endearing in a “maybe we should just stay in today,” kind of way. Taylor points an accusing finger his way and flips her hair slightly.

“And this is why you were naughty and I was nice for that themed party we went to a few months back.”

Louis narrows his eyes.

“No, you were nice because you refused to wear the outfit I picked for you!”

“I would have been naked!” She protests, in outrage.

Louis scoffs.

“Semi naked. It’s all the rage these days love. No matter, I think I looked pretty hot with eyeliner and leather,” Louis says with a smirk, tossing his head around dramatically.

Taylor giggles and reaches across to touch his arm as she smiles approvingly his way.

“You did…” she pauses, eyes roving over his body, “a hell of a lot better than you do today, Mr. “what shall I wear to see Taylor…oh how ‘bout the same ‘skate tough’ singlet that I wore last time and…hmm let me see…. Oh yes, my 20th pair of identically tight, black jeans.”

Louis shakes his head at her but he’s grinning, reluctantly amused.

“I don’t have twenty pairs…I’ve twenty five,” he says, earning a lovely burst of laughter from Taylor’s lips, “and what’s wrong with this? My bum looks good and you’ve always said I’ve got nice arms.”

Taylor inclines her head, focusing her blue eyes intently on his bulging biceps.

“That is true,” she agrees, her eyes darting up to his and then back to his arms for effect.

He pushes her lightly in the arm.

“Oh stop! You know you can’t creep me out that way. Just because I don’t bat for your team love, doesn’t mean I have any issue with you checking me out.”

“I’d rather Calvin if we’re being honest,” Taylor counters, her mouth curving at the side.

Louis leans away, placing a hand to his chest as he widens his blue eyes theatrically.

“Not my Calvin? Why didn’t you tell me? And to think, I thought he was so happy with-“

This time it’s Taylor who pushes him but she’s laughing, her cheeks almost swallowing the whites of her eyes as they press upward.

“Don’t be such an idiot!”

“Oh but it’s so much fun!”

They look at each other for a moment and then dissolve into laughter again, Louis hanging his head over the back of the couch as the humour finally fades.

“I’m actually really happy with him. Calvin, that is.”

Louis looks up at her and feels deep envy flood his veins as he watches her eyes turn dreamy, a light blush colouring her cheeks. She’s got that look in her eye, that ‘I’m about to fall headfirst in love’ look that she always gets right before it all goes wrong. Only this time it feels slightly less juvenile, slightly less wishy-washy and every time Louis sees her, she only looks happier. The smile on her mouth is one Louis recognises from his own relationships. It’s that slight curvature of the lips that says “I’m holding a secret” and the secret is those moments with that special person that no one else is privy to. Those moments where their skin glides along yours or their laughter fills the spaces in your chest. You simply can’t describe it because no one will ever know how sweet it is. Maybe you don’t want them to know. The secretive smile goes well with the gleam of pure satisfaction in her eyes.

“I know love,” Louis says, rubbing her shoulder with a soft smile, “and I know that when you two start having perfect little blonde babies with superior musical abilities, you will name at least one of them Louis.”

“How about…” Taylor purses her lips, looking speculative, “Loula? You know, for a girl.”

Louis stares at her in disbelief.

“You’re not serious.”

“What’s wrong with Loula?”

“Hmm let me think. Let us journey back to the last time we had this discussion. What was the baby name you said you liked again?”

“Dachshund.”

Louis bursts into laughter, slapping his knee as he remembers.

“It’s a breed of dog,” he says, between spurts of laughter, “you want to name your child after a dog. If you’re going to do that, you might as well name it Shih Tzu. Awehhh,” Louis claps his hands together, “look at little Shih Tzu sucking on a dummy. Beautiful little Shih Tzu.”

Taylor crosses her arms.

“Louis William Tomlinson, I did not come here to have you mock my taste in baby names.”

“If you’d prefer, I can mock your-“

“Louis,” she groans.

He relents with a grin.

“Okay, okay. What’s up? Was it presumptuous of me to assume you just wanted to see my lovely face?”

He frames his cheeks with his palms and bats his eyelashes at her in what he assumes is a charming manner. However her eyebrows are still tilted down and she doesn’t laugh.

“Tay, are you okay?” He asks, passing a hand over hers.

“I’m fine,” she says but her hand tightens on his and she looks fucking terrified.

“Taylor Alison Swift, what is going on?!”

“I,” she pauses, her face scrunching up further as she peruses his face, looking for something in his expression, “I didn’t want to have to bring this up again…”

Louis takes a deep, unsteady breath as he realises exactly why she’s come. It’s been at least a month since their last talk and he knows she must have had to work up the courage to come here and try it again. He wonders what triggered it. She can’t have known about the fight they had last night. That’s between him, Duncan and their curly haired neighbour. No, she must have just got an inkling that things were bad again.

Then again, it does seem that this past year, things are always fifty shades of fucked up. Even the sweetest moments with Duncan feel precarious and too momentary to trust. As if the minute Louis gives way to happiness, Duncan will snap and it will be ripped violently from his clutches once again. Louis feels like he’s crossing a tightrope every day of his god damn life. Walking on egg shells. So he knows. He knows why his loved ones feel the need to talk to him about this. However it’s just like that contented gleam in Taylor’s eye. It’s not something that can be understood from the outside looking in.

“So don’t,” Louis sighs, feeling wearied as he knocks his head against the back of the brown, leathery couch.

Just because he understands her concern, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother him.

“Lou,” she says solemnly, squeezing his bicep, “I’m just trying to help. You’re better than this. You’re so much better than him.”

“How can you say that?” Louis snaps his head up to look at her, eyes dipped in pain, “he’s the one working nine to five. I’m a fucking tattoo artist. He’s got plans for us and I-I’m just taking things day by day. He cooks and cleans and I-“Louis grips her arm tightly, “he does so much for me.”

Taylor tilts her head, studying him. Her eyes are bleeding such sadness that Louis almost moves to wrap his arms around her. If only that sadness weren’t for him.

“Everything except make you happy. God Lou, what has he done to you? How can you think those things about yourself? There’s nothing wrong with living for the now nor is there anything wrong with your job. You love your job.  I mean…the cooking and cleaning, maybe you could work on that,” Louis rolls his eyes, “but he’s not the perfect man and he’s far from the perfect boyfriend. I bet you he comes back tonight and demands to know who you were with today and what clients you saw. And if you mention a man that made you laugh, if you mention even swapping numbers with a friend, I bet you he calls you a slut.”

Louis’ expression twists painfully.

“You make me regret sharing things with you.”

“It’s abuse,” Taylor says, a viciousness on her face that rarely comes out except for when someone threatens Louis in any way, shape or form.

“He’s never touched me!” Louis protests, hating the way this conversation is making him feel.

He just wanted to catch up with his best friend to talk about how much Calvin is packing and whether Taylor’s going to see him DJ in Ibiza. He just wanted to forget for a few hours that his relationship isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and that the longer it goes on, the more broken he feels inside.

Taylor taps the side of his head.

“Mental abuse. Verbal abuse. God, if he ever touched you…” Taylor shakes her head, her lips sucked in toward each other in a severe expression that makes Louis glad he hasn’t mentioned the threats to her.

“He wouldn’t,” Louis says definitively.

“Look,” Taylor pushes her hands out in a placating gesture, “the point is…you can’t stay with him Louis. You’re not a slut, you know that…you’re not any of the things he makes you feel like so why are you with someone who knows you so little and who sees so little in you? You’re starting to let it affect how you see yourself. I remember a time when nobody could tell you how to feel about yourself.”

Her tone is impassioned and she looks just about ready to grip him by the arms and shake him. Louis himself is about ready to crawl into bed and close his eyes to the realities he doesn’t want to deal with.

“I get it,” Louis says in a whisper, refusing to raise his voice, lest it reveal the emotion pulsing in his chest, “I’m not the same person as I used to be and neither is he. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt but, it’s like…it’s like you’ll never be able to see the other side. To see what it’s like when he’s sweet and dutiful. You’ll only ever witness the hurt, never the love.  I get to see both. Only I can feel the push of his lips and his hands in my hair. Only I can see his eyes soften the way they do for me. That belongs to me and you’ll never know what it feels like. I can’t explain, I just…”

Louis looks up at her with saddened eyes, pain beating inside them at the pace of a heartbeat. Pulsing the same way blood pulses beneath a bruise. Underneath the love that he can’t shake, there’s a vacuum of hurt swallowing him whole.

“I can’t not want to be with him.”

“Oh Lou.”

Taylor reaches up and pats the side of his hair and he turns into her palm. He always has enjoyed it when people touch his hair. It soothes him and Taylor knows it.

“Do you want some tea?” She murmurs, “I was just going to make myself some.”

Louis nods his head, eyes still closed. As Taylor gets up, he leans his head against the couch and snuggles into the sandy coloured throw hanging over the side. He listens to her footsteps trailing away into the kitchen, feeling comforted. Louis’ letting her look after him because this is what he needs. This is what best friends do. He doesn’t need lectures and admonishments. He needs her caring touch. It doesn’t make it better but it doesn’t hurt so much when she’s here with him, making him feel precious and loved.

“Oh Lou, you’ve got no sugar!” She calls out, her voice echoing around the kitchen.

Louis eyes flutter open reluctantly and he raises himself up, walking into the kitchen to find her leaning against the silver bench, frowning into the sugar jar.

“Oh well, you will just have to go without.”

“Or,” Taylor says with a dangerous tone, “we could ask your neighbour that I just saw pop into his flat when I came in. He looked friendly enough. I’m sure he’d give us some sugar.”

Usually Louis would make an innuendo but he’s too consumed with protesting this turn of events, horror filling his widened blue eyes as he thinks back to the annoyance on the curly haired lad’s face when he’d showed up at their door last night. Sure, he’d seemed slightly taken aback and apologetic when he’d noticed Louis standing there, having obviously just been crying but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed off about the noise. Louis just feels weird about the whole thing.

When he’d closed his eyes last night, all he’d been able to picture was a cross necklace tapping against a dark tattoo of two swallows, surrounded by creamy skin. All he’d been able to hear was the echo of a deep timbre; a voice which was so unlike any he’d heard before. Musical in its cadences but so slow in its delivery and so very, very deep. It reminded him of sticky syrup being poured onto pancakes, trickling down the side of the jug and congealing thickly on the pancake itself. It resonated somewhere in Louis’ chest and he wasn’t sure why.

“No, no absolutely not. You can’t do that,” Louis hurries to say, blocking the exit to the kitchen as Taylor moves to leave.

She raises an eyebrow.

“And why not?”

“Because,” Louis huffs, “he came over last night to complain about-“Louis cuts himself off, realising he was just about to slip up and mention the fight he had with Duncan, “about how loud we were playing the TV,” Taylor narrows her eyes, clearly disbelieving but Louis ploughs ahead, rushing his words to distract her, “and seemed proper pissed off about it. I doubt he likes us. I can’t just go ask him for sugar.”

Taylor’s eyes asses him for a moment, dropping down his head, to his shoulders and then all the way down to his feet. One side of her upper lip quirks. Louis notices but it’s much too late.

“Maybe you can’t but I can,” she quips, ducking under his arm and running for the door.

Of course she’s faster than Louis with her giraffe legs. Even in heels. She slams the door just as he’s about to grasp it and it takes him too long to open it. She’s already rapped on the door next to theirs. Number 16. The flat belonging to the curly haired hipster. Fuck.

“I fucking hate you,” Louis hisses, glaring at her as he stalks over to her, standing behind and just slightly left of her shoulder.

If she’s going to ask the guy for sugar for his flat, he’s going to be there. Even if Curly does think he’s a pathetic, noise polluting twat.

“Well that’s not nice,” Taylor complains but she’s grinning as the door swings open in front of them.

Louis finds holding his breath quite necessary in this instant. He releases it in a whoosh when his neighbour appears in the open doorway wearing grey slacks and grey slacks only. His hair is softly tousled, less curly than last time as it’s jelled back in some kind of quiff, exposing more of his soft looking face. The guy has dimples and Louis feels hot under the collar. Dimples do something stupid to his stomach and it feels like he’s freefalling right now because his neighbour has a sculpted chest and indents in his hips that look like they’d perfectly fit a pair of hands; perhaps a pair of thumbs.

The swallows stand out against his skin like last time but he’s wearing a different necklace, a metal paper plane that sways between his pecs making Louis dizzy. His slacks ride low on his curvaceous hips and fit snugly to his long legs. He’s not wearing socks again. Although given his half-dressed state, it doesn’t mean much. Louis takes it all in, in a flash and all he can think about is the heat clawing its way up his throat, sucking away all the moisture and making him feel utterly dried out.

“Hi!” Taylor says cheerfully.

Louis slips behind her just as his neighbour’s eyes flicker sideways to the spot where he’d been standing.

“Hello,” He greets Taylor, a self-assuredness in his voice that had been mysteriously absent last night.

He sounds remarkably less caught off guard. Perhaps because there isn’t a tear stained mess before him.

“I’m Taylor,” Taylor volunteers and Louis can tell even from the back of her head that her lipstick stained mouth is stretched wide in a pearly white smile, the kind that gets people on side, “we were just wondering if you could spare some sugar.”

“We?”

Taylor glances behind her and sighs, obviously having missed the fact that Louis had hidden himself from view. She reaches backs and hooks her fingers around his arm, pulling him roughly in front of her. God it bugs him how strong she is. When Louis looks up, the top of his head reaches just to his neighbour’s eyes and he’s far too close. Close enough to smell the Tom Ford cologne and the scent of soap on his clean, shaven skin that glistens slightly in the fluorescent light.

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes widen infinitesimally and he looks off balance again. Then his mouth twists slightly into an amused shape and that enchanting musical note re-enters his tone, “hello.”

“Hi,” Louis responds, his voice strangely mute and shy sounding.

Louis is not shy. He does not do shy. Why is his throat constricting around his speech?

“I’m Harry,” the curly haired lad holds his hand out to Louis, his sea green eyes sparking playfully as if they’ve just shared an inside joke, “nice to meet you…?”

Louis’ just staring at him with wide eyes, unable to form words in English. He starts as Taylor squeezes his shoulder from behind.

“This is Louis,” she volunteers for him.

“Nice to meet you Louis,” Harry says softly, his eyes dropping down Louis’ face and making his skin tingle and itch. After an extended beat of staring, he raises his eyes to Taylor, “and you Taylor, of course.”

“We’ve already met,” Louis blurts out and then blanches at his own idiocy.

What kind of remark is that?

Harry tilts his head and raises his eyebrows and Louis’ eyes are immediately drawn to the swinging necklace and the chest muscles that protrude outward, so very close to him.

“I meant, it’s nice to meet you properly,” Harry corrects with a smile that dimples at the corners.

“Right…”

Taylor laughs none too subtly behind Louis’ head and he turns his head a fraction to glare at her.

“I’d love to invite you in,” Harry says wistfully as Louis turns back around to find him staring again, eyes tracking over the tight jeans and muscles around his arms, “but I’ve got a charity gala to get to. Hence the get up,” he sweeps the air next to his slacks, “…not my usual style.”

“Didn’t think so,” Louis says with arched eyebrows, fighting the urge to add the word ‘hipster.’

“Louis!” Taylor scolds but Louis pays no mind.

Taylor gets a kick out of his honesty even when she pretends she doesn’t and Harry himself, well his cheeks are practically convulsing as they twitch with a grin.

“No it’s okay,” Harry reaches over Louis to pat Taylor’s shoulder before lowering his amused jade eyes to Louis’, a pleased smile shaping his lips, “I’m definitely not this kind of guy. However, I do support charity and my mum is kind of at the helm of a lot of these things which means I have to go. Can’t say I enjoy talking to the people who attend them though. Even the people who donate are usually quite stuffy. “Oh Margaret, we must have lunch next Tuesday but we mustn’t go back to that god awful restaurant we went to last time. Can you believe it Darcy? They served us water that had not even been chilled. Straight from the tap. Unbelievable.””

Harry does a perfect imitation of the posh, upper clash society. He’s definitely got the right accent for it. That, paired with his thick lips arching around the words, his nose pulled up with disdain and his evergreen eyes dancing across Louis’ with pure mischief, makes for true brilliance. Louis’ smoky laugh is surprised out of him as he looks Harry over with approval. Amusing little hipster. Louis’ eyes fly to his thick biceps and the hard lines of his chest. Well, maybe not so little. Harry’s lips arch higher with a smile as he watches Louis right back.

“I don’t blame you,” Louis remarks, still chuckling, “sounds like a barrel of laughs.”

“Oh you have no idea.”

Louis and Harry grin at each other, lips notching higher until Taylor taps Louis on the back of his shoulder.

“Ah, Lou…the sugar?”

Louis starts. Harry’s eyes widen comically as he opens his full mouth.

“Oh, goodness,” Louis’ lips quirk, his eyebrows rising towards his hair in response to Harry’s posh form of swearing, “I mean…shit, the sugar. I’ll just pop into the kitchen and get it for you.”

Louis smiles kindly at him, his eyes creasing at the sides and Harry stares for a moment before stumbling away. Louis tries to pretend that the dip in his lower back and the tension lines across the backs of his shoulders aren’t all that mesmerising. Taylor, on the other hand, wheels him around with a frenzied kind of excitement in her glowing blue eyes.

“What was that?” She squeaks, squeezing the side of his arm.

His gaze flickers down to her fingers, his eyebrows slanted low with confusion.

“What was what?”

“You were flirting with him!”

“I was not,” Louis splutters, “I have a boyfriend.”

“Who’s a real arse-“

“Taylor,” Louis says threateningly.

She rolls her eyes but then grins, her enthusiasm clearly undiminished.

“I’m just saying,” her eyes fix on something over his shoulder, presumably Harry, “he’s got a seriously hot body. And well…he was flirting with you too.”

Louis’ eyebrows jump, his heart knocking against his ribs. The corners of Taylor’s lips twitch as she watches his response. He’s just about to tell her to stop smiling at him like that when a hand grasps him from behind, long, lean fingers pressing into the soft skin as a thumb brushes over the back of his shoulder blade.

“Here,” Harry says softly, handing the sugar to Louis as he turns around, surprise at the touch still flickering over his features.

“Thank you.”

Louis’ voice is far too breathy for a casual conversation in the hallway and his cheeks are starting to feel hot.

“We should um…” he jabs his thumb sideways to his flat and Harry nods, looking slightly disheartened, “enjoy your charity gala.”

“Enjoy your…” Harry’s eyes flit down to the sugar and then back up to Louis’ face, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth, “sugar.”

“Oh I would never ruin tea that way. It’s for Taylor,” Louis says, raising his eyes to the heavens to indicate his disapproval.

Harry hacks a laugh and its chesty, rough sound fills Louis’ ears so pleasantly, he finds himself breaking into a toothy smile all of his own, seeking more of the sound.

“You know what Americans are like…can’t have anything without some form of sweetness or grease,” Louis adds, leaning forward just slightly to wink at his half-dressed neighbour.

“Hey!” Taylor says from behind him, only slightly outraged.

Then she squeezes his hip and leans over him to talk directly to Harry.

“This is coming from the guy who thinks ‘salad’ is a dirty word.”

Harry’s lips are just about touching his ears at this point, inching higher every second as his eyes fly back and forth between Taylor and Louis.

“I see,” Harry nods quite seriously but his eyes are still all aglow, lit up like two green lanterns that Louis finds himself inexplicably drawn to.

He shrugs, unashamed.

“It is what it is.”

Harry’s eyes trail across his chest and he skates a finger across Louis’ tattoo, clearly unbothered by physical contact with mere strangers. Louis can’t say he minds all that much. Harry’s touch is feather light and Louis leans forward just slightly so that the pad of his finger presses more firmly against his skin.

“I see,” Harry repeats, mouth upturned once more.

Louis is disturbed by the fluttering in his chest.

“We should really…”

“Right, right,” Harry’s hand drops awkwardly to his side, his eyes jumping nervously from Louis’ to Taylor, “I should finish getting ready. It was…lovely meeting you,” Louis’ mouth opens but Harry rushes to say, “Properly” before Louis can call him on it.

“It was lovely meeting you too,” Taylor says.

Harry nods, a quiet smile on his face but his eyes fasten on Louis’ and it seems as if he’s waiting for Louis to say the last words.

“Well um…au revoir”        

It sounds ridiculous in his Northerner accent and he’s not sure where the hell it came from. Harry looks thoroughly amused as with one last dimpled smile, he silently shuts the door. Louis takes a deep, unsteady breath and then turns to face Taylor who is shaking with silent laughter.

“au revoir?!” She exclaims, holding her stomach as she begins to laugh aloud, “au revoir?! Since when do you say au revoir?”

Louis’ whole being fills with despair. What was that?

“I don’t know,” he moans, moving past Harry’s door to get back to his own.

Taylor’s still laughing as she follows.

“Orevwa! I can’t believe you just said orevwa!”

Louis rolls his eyes as he pushes the door to his flat open.

“Can we move on please?”

“Of course,” Taylor agrees, “let’s discuss how the size of Calvin’s hands is not at all misleading…if you catch my drift.”

Finally. This is the kind of conversation that Louis can get on board with.

……

“Oh goodness, here he comes.”

“You like to pretend you’re not posh but it’s not at all believable.”

“Harry…posh?!” Niall calls from a metre away, a toothy grin spreading over his mouth, “what are you talking about Zayn? Harold is as unsophisticated as they come.”

Niall’s dressed in a light grey suit with a black tie and pointed black shoes. He looks like a kid playing dress up with his dad’s clothes. His blonde hair is standing up in some kind of messy arrangement that makes him look like a high school kid and his blue eyes are alight with humour. He

draws close and Harry quite covertly elbows him in the ribs.

“I do not appreciate your sarcasm.”

“As if you weren’t just about to complain to Zayn,” Niall’s cheeks lift, “Hey that rhymes,” Harry and Zayn roll their eyes, “…complain to Zayn that I’m a threat to this gala and all because I like to have a good time.”

“I honestly don’t know why they let you into these things,” Zayn says, raising his champagne glass along with his eyebrows.

Zayn is admittedly much more suited to these black tie events. He’s dressed in a navy suit that sucks in at the waist with a prim white shirt that’s buttoned higher than anything Harry’s ever buttoned in his life. Tonight being the exception. His hair is slicked back in a fold over quiff and his dark eyes glow like jewels alongside his almond toned skin. The points of his defined cheekbones and the sharp cut of his jaw scream “male model” as does the way he looks down at Niall’s clearly rented suit with a hint of distaste. Just like Harry, he was born into an upper class family, his parents having known Harry’s since they started at boarding school together when they were quite young. Niall, on the other hand, was the ball of sunshine Harry met when he used to spend his weekends photographing buskers on the street.

“Because I’m Harry’s best friend-“

Zayn bristles at this and Niall flashes a grin.

“His other best friend,” he corrects but he looks unapologetic, “and Harry pays ‘em off, don’t you Haz?”

Niall nudges him much too hard and he stumbles a little, the top layer of his champagne lifting up out of his glass and splashing onto the sleeve of his dark coat.

“Oops.”

Niall’s grin is stretched wide across his face and Harry just sighs and tosses the rest of his drink back.

“I don’t know why you bother coming. It’s not as if you contribute anything to charity,” Harry says with slanted down eyebrows.

“Well, I eat all the food and drink half their alcohol, don’t I?”

Harry’s eyebrows draw more tightly together.

“Niall,” he says, looking at the younger boy with confusion, “you don’t pay for any of that.”

“No,” Niall’s lips pull back even more and his teeth are so white, they sometimes remind Harry of one of those sharks from Finding Nemo, “but the more I consume, the less there is for everybody else. Less liver disease and heart attacks all round. I think that’s quite charitable, don’t you?”

Zayn lets out a rare chuckle as Harry shakes his head, a reluctant grin on his face.

“You’ve gotta give it to him,” Zayn says, “He sure knows how to sell himself.”

“If I didn’t have so much dignity, I’d be a prostitute,” Niall contends with a puffed up chest.

“You?!” Harry guffaws, “Dignity?!”

Zayn smiles close lipped and points at Niall’s mock offended expression.

“The first time we met you had a sausage hanging out your mouth and the first thing you said to me was, ‘don’t mind a bit a’ premium sausage.’”

Harry’s laugh fills the air as he recalls the first exchange between Niall and Zayn. Niall looks equally amused, turning to grab a champagne flute from a nearby waiter.

“It’s not my fault you’ve a dirty mind Zayn Malik,” he says.

Then he knocks back the whole glass of champagne and wipes away resulting debris with his sleeve.

Zayn blanches while Harry finds himself unintentionally endeared. The first time he’d invited Niall to one of these events, it had been an affront to his parents. After that, it just became about having someone there who could make him laugh and who didn’t feel the need to act like a pretentious git half the time. Despite the fact that Niall sometimes puts him on edge with his loud, brash Irishness and his ability to quickly offend half the room with his eating habits, he’s also the reason Harry stays sane. As much as he loves Zayn and thinks of him as a best mate, it’s not the same as having someone who grew up away from it all. Someone who doesn’t have gilt framed family portraits in their home (his family home, not his flat) and a chef who they call “cook” because they never bothered to ask the lovely woman her name (it’s Cheryl).

“You interrupted us,” Zayn complains, changing the topic, “Harry was just about to tell me about his new neighbour.”

Niall turns to him with curiosity sparking in his blue eyes. There’s nothing he loves more than new people to latch onto.

“Do continue,” he says encouragingly, sounding remarkably posh for someone who is anything but.

“Okay well, his name is Louis,” Zayn and Niall make an exaggerated “ooh” noise that Harry ignores, “and he looks around the same age as me….23, maybe 24. He’s um…gorgeous.”

“Someone’s got a crush,” Niall teases, nudging Zayn who stumbles just as Harry had and throws Niall a belligerent look.

Niall’s completely oblivious.

“He has a boyfriend,” Harry says gruffly, “who he shares the flat with. I went over to complain about the noise…I know, not like me at all…but I could hear them yelling through the walls,” he pauses then, his forehead creasing, “although come to think of it, it was more one sided than anything. Anyway, I was trying to fix my camera because it’s been playing up lately. I couldn’t concentrate. So I go over there to complain and this guy who looks like a total butt munch-

“Butt munch?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“Okay total tosspot,” Zayn just shakes his head at Harry’s weird insult, “…this total tosspot chews me out, tries to turn it around like I was the unreasonable one. Then behind him is this guy who’s like swamped in this massive grey jumper and his face is just all wrung out and wrong. Like I could tell he’d just been crying. He looked so vulnerable and heartbroken and I-“

“And you fell in love with him right then and there?” Niall provides, lips twitching.

Harry glares at him until the smile falls.

“No, I felt so guilty. Just terrible. His boyfriend ended up shutting the door in my face before I could say much to make up for it…but then, miracle of all miracles, I was getting ready for tonight and who should stop by but Louis, the messy crier and his friend Taylor, hoping to borrow some sugar-“

“Hoping to borrow some sugar or hoping for you to give him some sugar?” Niall says, humour breaking over his features.

“And I’m the dirty minded one…” Zayn complains and rightfully so.

“Anyway,” Harry says, ignoring them both, “we talked and it was like-he was really nice and like, funny. He seemed much happier today and I was just thinking that I’d like to-“

“Wrap him up in a blanket and take him home?” Zayn suggests, winking at Niall which makes Niall’s cheesy grin return.

“Don’t bring Hugh Grant into this,” Harry says threateningly, Zayn and Niall sniggering in response.

“As I was saying, I just think his boyfriend’s probably a real twat and maybe he just needs a friend or like…” Zayn mouths ‘Hugh Grant’ at Niall who dissolves into laughter, champagne spraying out his nose, “or like,” Harry says more sternly, “just someone in the building to look out for him. So I was thinking of maybe asking him to like hang out with us tomorrow night at my place. What do you guys think?”

“I think…” Zayn says contemplatively before pointing at Harry, a malicious kind of curl to his smile, “You’re going to need a much bigger litter box if you plan on adopting him.”

They attract half a roomful of stares when Niall’s gigantic, raucous laugh booms out over the room. Harry’s smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head at his friends and grabs another drink off a passing waiter.

…..

Harry shakes his hands out and takes a deep calming breath, running his sweaty palms down over his blue jeans that hug his thighs while he tries to assess whether his fashion choices are too hipster-y or not. He’s got on a grey pullover with a black and white striped coat over the top. His necklace is matching in its colour profile; a dark, pupil like bead encircled by a white ring and he’s stuffed his abnormally large feet into some dark brown boots with a slight heel. His curls are pulled back by a black headband dotted with tiny yellow bananas (it was a gift from Niall). Harry shrugs and figures if Louis doesn’t accept his sometimes, admittedly odd fashion choices, then maybe they’re just not meant to be friends. He raps on the door and prays to god that Louis’ arsehole of a boyfriend doesn’t answer this time.

Thankfully luck is on his side…or kind of. Louis opens the door but his attire makes Harry gasp. He tries to turn into a breezy, breathy, “hello” but It’s still embarrassingly off balance. Louis looks amused by this as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks Harry up and down in a similar fashion, a hint of teeth showing as his smile lengthens. Harry feels like he definitely should have just worn jeans and a white t-shirt. Louis is dressed in dark black shorts that show off a pair of short but undeniably toned legs and a long sleeved white shirt that presses tightly against his chest and stomach, revealing his indecently tiny form. Harry stares for what is an inappropriately long amount of time.

 “Harold, what’s up?” Louis asks, interrupting Harry’s reverie.

His head jolts up and he meets the sparkling blue eyes with a nervous smile.

“Ah, it’s Harry actually. Harry Styles rather-“

“Rather?” Louis snorts and even that is a wonderful look on him, the sharpness of his response sending a zap of some sort throughout Harry’s body, “you are beyond posh.”

Harry is about to argue the point when Louis’ boyfriend appears behind him, lugging a huge black suitcase and looking seriously vexed by Harry’s presence. Suspicious even.

“What are you doing back here? What are you talking to him for?” He demands, shoving Louis roughly to the side so he can glare at Harry more effectively.

Louis’ eyes cloud over with something that looks a lot like hurt, his cheeks blushing with shame as he holds tight to the side of the door frame. Suddenly he’s the same heartbroken face Harry saw two days ago. Suddenly he’s not all lit up with humour and wit. He looks so embarrassed by his boyfriend’s show of possessiveness, his eyelashes fluttering along his cheeks as he stares determinedly at the ground. He’s breaking Harry’s heart. Not Hugh Grant, Harry tries to tell himself but he still wants to save him. He can’t help himself. He opens his mouth to respond but Louis beats him to the punch, grabbing his boyfriend’s bicep and looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Duncan…babe, he was just here to talk about getting a tattoo. It’s work related,” Louis says, his voice coloured with fear.

Then he turns his desperate, cerulean blue eyes on Harry and Harry’s heart knocks back and forth between the front and back of his rib cage. Harry thinks the intense vulnerability in those eyes must have left puncture marks upon entering his soul.

“Weren’t you?” He says to Harry and his eyes scream ‘please.’

Duncan’s eyes flash between Harry and Louis, assessing the situation and Harry’s head bobs, only slightly jerkily.

“Yes…of course,” he says, watching Louis’ expression visibly unclench, “no harm done mate?”

Harry holds out a hand to Duncan who shakes it, squeezing it much too tight. Harry doesn’t flinch. Duncan’s acting more like Louis’ over protective father than his boyfriend and it’s confusing Harry to no end.

“Right,” Duncan huffs, releasing his hand, “I should be going.”

“See you Monday?” Louis questions, his voice betraying his need.

It’s such a stark contrast to his confident demeanour with Harry that it’s startling. How can Louis want this boyfriend, who yells at him and makes him cry, to come running back home to see him? Is he actually happy in this relationship? The thought of it makes Harry feel sick.

“We’ll see,” Duncan says sternly, speaking to Louis as though he were a greedy child.

Then he kisses Louis on his head and Harry blanches at the sheer platonic way Duncan treats him. He’s obviously going away for the weekend but he’s not even going to kiss his boyfriend goodbye. He’s not going to give his entirely too gorgeous boyfriend a proper kiss to see him through the next couple of days. Harry thinks it has to be a joke but Louis’ eyes are two pits of despair as he pulls on Duncan’s hoodie.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” he says, his voice so small, his expression tinged with fear.

Duncan sighs, rolls his eyes and then leans down and meets Louis halfway with a chaste kiss. Harry feels torn between relief and annoyance and that can’t be good. He shoves the thought aside as Duncan slips past him and then hurries away down the hallway and out the building. Harry’s still staring when Louis coughs exaggeratedly to get his attention. He jumps.

“You wanted something?” Louis asks but his voice is much more subdued now.

It sounds rough and choked up like he might be swallowing back tears. His eyes keep flying away from Harry’s and landing on his necklace so Harry gathers he might be ashamed. Not that he has any reason to be. It’s not his fault his boyfriend is an utter asshat.

Harry feels like the best strategy is to get Louis talking. He doesn’t know the lad from atom but from what he’s seen so far, Louis’ at his best when he’s bantering. He’s at his best when he’s stirring or perhaps even being stirred. At least Harry hopes.

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Harry asks, ignoring his question for now as he lets his mouth twist with amusement, “a _gay_ tattoo artist. Guess I know why you opted to grow the facial hair.”

It’s a ridiculous comment really. The facial hair is barely a light dusting that covers the small curve of his chin. It’s an intriguing reddish-brown colour that’s slightly at odds with the dark hair atop his head and is really quite attractive. Also there’s a chance that a decent proportion of the gay population and perhaps the tattoo artist population, would be offended by his comment/generalisation. However Louis is not one of them.

His cheeks lift along with the corners of his mouth and he leans forward. He inhales exaggeratedly, the mischief in his sparkling blue eyes doing nothing to stem the strange activity going on in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“And I suppose you wear such masculine cologne for a similar reason. To offset your whole,” Louis waves a hand in the air, to indicate Harry’s body, “flamboyant fashion sense.”

Harry’s green eyes are swallowing Louis’, his body leaning forward as his lips flutter upward. He’s caught in the moment, barely conscious of his movements.

“Who says I’m gay?” he enquires.

Louis wets his bottom lip, a seemingly unconscious gesture but it draws Harry’s gaze instantly. Louis points at Harry’s legs.

“The women’s jeans you’re wearing.”

Harry chuckles and Louis looks quite pleased, his contented eyes barely revealing a slit of blue as the skin at the corners folds in on itself, creasing up. Harry’s never quite seen a smile like it. It crawls inside his chest and takes residence in his lungs, stealing half his oxygen supply.

“We probably offended a great deal of people with this conversation,” Harry says, still warm all over.

Louis grips the door frame as he leans out his flat and looks either side of the hallway. When he pulls back in, he raises his eyebrows, that smug, devilish smile starting to liven up his features now.

“I don’t see any people Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes Louis’ shoulder lightly who stumbles but upon regaining his balance, returns the gesture, barely managing to make Harry sway on his feet. Harry beams at him, Louis crossing his arms and flicking his feathered fringe away from his forehead, petulance written all over his expression. It’s adorable really. Hugh Grant wears a similar look whenever he rediscovers the fruitlessness of trying to steal chicken from Harry’s plate.

“What was it you came to see me for?” Louis asks, arms still crossed.

Harry is nervous and sweaty all over again.

“Oh. I um…I’m having some mates over tonight for movies and stuff at my place. I was just wondering if…maybe you’d want to come,” Louis’ face registers surprise and Harry panics, rushing on with the rest of his verbal diarrhoea, “you don’t have to come of course. It’s just, I thought it might be nice if we got to know each other a bit and like maybe you could bring a friend yourself, Taylor or someone else, it’s up to you but really-“

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, curling his hand over Harry’s wrist. Harry covers his flushing neck and tries not to flush further at Louis’ soft touch, “I’d love to come.”

“You would?”

Harry inwardly curses his stupidly hopeful, stupidly insecure tone.

“Course,” Louis’ smile stretches wide, “got the perfect person in mind to bring too.”

…….

“You want me to come where?” huffs Liam as he raises an obscene amount of weight up over his chest, Louis spotting him from above.

If Louis was into fitness freaks like Liam, he’d probably have asked him out by now. They met when Louis had enlisted his help as a personal trainer after Duncan had remarked that the extra weight around his tummy was unattractive. He’d wanted to protest that he didn’t mind the extra weight and that he was still healthy and surely that’s all that mattered but Duncan had been giving him looks. Looks that said, “I’m not as attracted to you as I used to be.” It got under his skin. It burrowed deep into his heart and amassed into such a pile of hurt and self-abhorrence that he simply couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Liam had been the man with a plan but now he’s simply one of Louis’ only male best mates. Duncan’s still under the impression that they only train together but Louis spends more time yakking on about their relationship and trying to coerce him into asking guys out than he does doing any form of physical maintenance. However he always ensures he does enough to keep the extra weight off, lest he be looked at with distaste again.

Anyway, Liam is quite the stud muffin in a white, transparent singlet that exposes his bulging arms and reveals his seriously impressive pecs to anyone who’s looking. He’s got a buzz cut to match and black workout pants that ride low over his hips. He’s also got big, brown eyes that resemble that of a puppy. All of it is a lethal combination and if Liam had any confidence within himself, he’d be an absolute hit with guys and girls alike. He’s really only interested in the tush but either way, he’s built like the hulk and has an absolute heart of gold to match.

Louis’ tried to boost his confidence in more ways than one, giving guys his number without his permission (he hadn’t heard the end of that for a week), pushing him into one of the many guys checking him out in the wash room and various other methods. Yet Liam’s never quite been able to conquer the art of flirting or even, semi-fluent conversation. He turns into an absolute mess and suddenly the fit body and cute smile isn’t enough to save him. He turns beet red and Louis’ left having to act as saviour, making an excuse for Liam and dragging him away with a disappointed shake of his head, then feeling bad about it when Liam bows his head with shame.

“To my neighbour’s flat tonight,” Louis repeats, a hint of agitation in his voice.

Liam rests the weight lifting bar in Louis’ hands who drops it back into the stand. He slides out from underneath and Louis passes him his towel which he uses to rub away the traces of sweat collected on his face and in the palms of his hands. He follows this with a long pull of water from the bottle beside his feet and then douses himself with it. He turns to Louis with crossed arms and raised eyebrows.

“What did he do this time?” He sighs, referring to Louis’ irritated tone.

“Nothing,” says Louis, scowling in the direction of the floor.

Liam crosses the space between them and grips his shoulder, rocking him slightly with his unconscious strength.

“Lou, what’s going on mate?”

Louis hates it when Liam does this. He prefers their water fights in the wash room and their constant bickering that is their special form of affection. He hates it when Liam sees through his bullshit and then touches or looks at Louis like he has a “handle with care” sticker stuck to his forehead.

“Nothing…I just,” Louis rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, “he’s gone away for work again. You know how I get when he goes away…”

Liam pulls his hands away and lowers his head to look Louis more directly in the eyes, a reprimand in his expression.

“No, I know how he gets. He fucks you till you’re too sore to move and then refuses to give you any form of loving affection so that you’ll be left wanting more while he’s away. All because the stupid git thinks it’ll prevent you from straying. As if you would anyway,” Liam scoffs.

“It’s not his fault,” Louis bristles, even as he recalls the hard and not at all enjoyable fuck he’d endured hours earlier, “he just loves me that much. He gets scared about other guys.”

“Louis, wake up,” Liam rolls his eyes, “scared is telling your boyfriend not to find anyone else when you’re gone and checking in every day to see what he’s up to. Scared is not hurting him and leaving him in a mess so that you can feel secure.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis says with gritted teeth, thinking that he really has to stop complaining to his friends.

“Fine,” Liam releases his shoulder, “but stop being a grumpy bum. You’re small enough to be a child and when you pout like that, it only enhances the effect.”

Liam smirks at him and waits for the inevitable thwack as Louis snatches his towel away and whips him with it.

“Tosser,” Louis hisses with narrowed eyes.

“Prat.”

“Arsehole.”

“Cockhead.”

“Butt munch.”

Liam’s torso hunches over as he laughs deeply.

“Butt munch? Where did you learn that?”

Louis smirks, his bad mood evaporating quickly.

“Friends. Looked it up on urban dictionary though. It means a friend who is being a jackass. Perfect description for you really,” Louis says, a cheeky smile perched on his lips as his blue eyes peel with the laughter.

Liam just rolls his eyes.

“What was it you were asking me before?”

“Oh right. I wanted to know if you’d come to my neighbour’s flat tonight,” Louis watches Liam’s eyebrows creep inward and hurries to say, “not that you have any say in the matter.”

Liam looks pleading now as he grabs both of Louis’ shoulders and shakes him.

“Please no. You know what I’m like around new people. Took me forever to warm up to you and don’t tell me…this neighbour of yours…is he male?”

“Well…”

“Is he good looking?”

Louis bites his lip. Liam groans.

“Louis, please don’t make me come. Why are you even going anyway? Does Duncan know?”

“Well, no,” Louis admits, a hint of trepidation on his face, “but I told him Harry wants a tattoo.”

Liam cocks his head to the side, expression sceptical.

“And does this Harry, I’m assuming that’s your neighbour,” Louis nods, “want a tattoo?”

“Err…”

“Louis,” Liam complains in a gust of breath, “why do you do this? If you didn’t have such a prat for a boyfriend,” Louis’ face clenches up, his stomach twisting painfully, “you wouldn’t have to lie…about me or poor Harry.”

“Poor Harry?”

“He’s single right?”

“Yeah…” Louis says, voice wavering with confusion, “I mean I don’t know…but he’s not living with anyone. So?”

“And is he straight or-“

“Gay.”

“So he’s probably interested.”

“What?” Louis barks out a laugh, wrapping his arm around his stomach as it erupts out of him, “that’s ridiculous.”

Liam’s whole face is like a caricature of a cumbersome teacher disciplining a student as he puts on his most stern, fatherly voice. Yes, Louis much prefers their banter to this.

“It’s not ridiculous. Most gay…” A contemplative light fills Liam’s brown eyes, “and probably even some straight guys, are attracted to you,” Louis opens his mouth to protest but Liam takes it upon himself to close it for him, “and don’t argue, I see them checking you out. I’m just saying, if Duncan weren’t in your life…it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Liam shrugs as if he hasn’t just suggested Louis end a three year relationship with the man he loves.

“I’m not interested in Harry,” Louis says with only the barest hint of something swirling in his stomach, “and he’s not interested in me. This was SO not the point of this conversation. You are coming tonight and that’s final. It’ll be you, me and a couple of his mates…nothing major. You need to get over this silly fear or you’re never going to land a boyfriend.”

Liam rolls his eyes but Louis knows him well enough to see beyond it to the insecurities within.

“’s not all life’s about Lou,” Liam says, his mournful expression indicating that even he doesn’t buy what he’s selling.

This is when Louis starts to feel bad as the huge, muscled lad before him turns inward and starts persecuting himself for his lack of social skills with potential mates.

“Hey,” Louis says more gently, “maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet. The love of your life could be…ah, Harry,” the thing swirling in his stomach brightens up exponentially at the alternative that slips out his mouth next, “or… one of Harry’s friends.”

There’s a trace of a smile as Liam shakes his head, not at all convinced.

“Yeah right. Pigs will fly before that happens.”

Louis taps his finger against his bottom lip, raising his eyes to the roof as if deep in thought.

“Where to get a cannon and some thrill-seeking pigs…” he says, smiling triumphantly at Liam’s easily won chuckle.

Louis’ earlier consternation concerning Duncan is all but forgotten.

…..

That bastard changed. Harry now suspects Louis must have been on his way to the gym or something, given his earlier attire but…that bastard changed. Harry’s still wearing the same grey pullover, minus the striped coat, with blue jeans. He’d left the head scarf in too, preferring to be seen as an oddity rather than a curly mess. He’d spritzed some fresh cologne and maybe swiped his thumb across his bottom lip with a dash of lip gloss. It wasn’t remotely shiny or obvious. Harry just liked how it coloured his mouth a slightly darker shade of pink.

But Louis. Harry opens the door to Louis dressed in tight, black jeans rolled just above his tiny, honey toned ankles and a deep red, collared shirt that’s cut just reveals his entirely too stellar collar bones and a portion of his dark tattoo. He’s got a black beanie over his head that offsets the slightly formal attire of his shirt, as if he weren’t quite sure how to dress. It forces his fringe down so that it falls across his eyes in folds of soft, chestnut brown. The blue that pokes through the dark strands between is all lit up like the flame beneath a Bunsen burner. Harry pulls Louis in to a hug, trying not to interpret the quiet gasp below him as anything negative.

“Louis,” he chirps, unable to contain how positively enthralled he is that the other lad showed.

Louis’ hair smells fruity and fresh, like watermelon or something and the rest of him has some clean, soapy scent too. Harry notes that the ends of his hair are still slightly damp.

“Hipster,” Louis replies, stepping past Harry and into his flat.

Harry chuckles then watches as Louis stands in his living room, twisting this way and that to peruse everything in sight. His eyes fall on the collection of camera equipment piled high in the corner and then carry across the walls to the small number of paintings he has, most of them abstract explosions of colour. Finally they take in the mauve toned couches and the antique looking coffee table that houses a wide selection of snacks and as of yet empty glasses. There’s a furry, grey bundle curled up beneath. Louis’ lips curve as he points at the bundle.

“Of course you have a kitten.”

Harry shrugs, grinning unapologetically.

“Something wrong with that?” He asks.

Louis swivels in his direction, eyes still spiking with some form of unusual energy. Harry notices how very tiny his nose is. It’s a button nose. In fact most of his features are pretty tiny except for his thick biceps and the arse that Harry had tried not to ogle as Louis assessed his flat.

“No,” Louis says with a laugh, “it’s just that cats are on the same level as cockroaches for me.”

Harry’s brow furrows and he makes a “harrumph” sound which makes Louis laugh again. He crosses the space between them and places his hand against Harry’s shoulder blade, curling his fingers across the top slightly and elevating Harry’s heart rate in the process.

“Sorry love,” he says, his long, feminine-like eyelashes fluttering, “but I just don’t do fur.”

Harry cocks his head, expression speculative. He tries not to let the flirtatious challenge in his eye treacle down to his mouth but it’s twitching before he can do much about it. He pulls on the end of Louis’ fringe.

“What do you call this?” he murmurs.

“Hair,” Louis says with a chuckle.

Yet the light in his eyes dims slightly as he steps backward. Harry warns himself then and there that he best keep himself in check. Louis is attractive. Louis is amusing. It’s quite easy to get lost in the flow of words between them and maybe Louis feels that too but Louis is not his to charm and Harry is not looking for messy. Thankfully it’s then that a knock sounds on the door, distracting them both from the sudden onset of tension.

“I’ll just…get that,” Harry says, slightly stilted and more than slightly awkward.

Louis purses his mouth in a contained smile that suggests he knows exactly what Harry is thinking. Harry doesn’t like the thought of that. He shakes it off as he turns and strides toward the door, opening it up to both Niall and Zayn who look like they’ve already had some minor disagreement, Zayn’s nose pinched with distaste while Niall looks all huffy and slightly red in the face.

“What happened now?” Harry sighs.

Zayn looks stunning, in dark jeans, a loose black singlet and a charcoal leather jacket that finishes at his forearms. His hair is standing up on his head, the strong scent of gel and product rolling off it in waves. Harry can’t deny it always looks good, somehow still soft, despite the force that must have been used to get it to stay that way. Niall is as always, his antithesis, in light blue jeans that are torn at the knees and a baggy white jumper which has a faded yellow stain at the edge.

“Niall…” Zayn tosses his head, looking positively disgusted. “Niall…”

“I farted,” Niall fills in for him, “and the electric windows in his merc are still broken.”

There’s a loud cackle behind Harry’s head and he turns with a quizzical expression to find Louis in stitches. Louis comes up behind him, wraps a warm hand around his hip and moves him sideways, lighting him on fire while he so casually leans forward and offers a hand.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he says, with a swoon-worthy smile, “I’m Harry’s new neighbour. Very impressed with your work.”

Niall grins as he grabs Louis’ hand and yanks him into a hug, thumping him over the back despite the fact that they’ve only just met.

“Louis mate, nice to meet ya. I’m Niall, Harry’s best mate.” he says, voice echoing out into the hallway.

Louis doesn’t seem too put off when he pulls away, winking at Niall, before offering the same hand to Zayn.

“Hello,” he says, a touch more formality in his tone as if he already recognises the difference between the two.

However Zayn’s been glancing between Louis and Niall with a concentrated little frown on his face and it seems that his innate competitiveness is enough to chase away the posh superiority…at least for now. He breaks into a winning smile and pulls Louis into a hug too.

“I’m Zayn,” he says quietly, “Harry’s fittest mate.”

Is he flirting? Harry glares at him over Louis’ shoulder, praying his eyes scream “he has a boyfriend” and not “get your filthy paws off him before I make you.” Louis pulls away from him with a breathy, rough sounding laugh that sends a tingle down Harry’s spine.

“I see,” Louis lets his eyes rove over Zayn’s form and Harry’s stomach muscles tighten, “model?”

Zayn nods, his dark eyes glowing with pride.

“Are you two going to come in?” Harry says impatiently, “or are you just going to stand there gawking at him and smiling like you’ve just met Father Christmas?”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him but Harry pretends he doesn’t see, leading Louis and the rest to the couches where they arrange themselves, Louis and Zayn on one couch (much to Harry’s annoyance) and Niall on the other beside Harry. Just as he starts handing out glasses, there’s another slightly more hesitant tap on the door.

“That’ll be Liam,” Louis supplies, “my mate.”

Harry stands to go get the door but Louis presses him back down with a hand to his knee.

“No, I’ll get it,” he says with crinkled eyes, “as long as...you don’t mind?”

Niall laughs unnecessarily loud and leans across Harry to communicate with Louis.

“Mate, the first time I came over, I got a pizza delivered here without asking.”

Harry chortles at the memory and inclines his head in Niall’s direction.

“It’s true. He’s kind of a terror.”

Louis grins and then stands, walking across the room to swing open the door. Harry hears a slightly panicked voice on the other side of it.

“Louis I’m so sorry I’m late but I couldn’t figure out what to wear and then I started worrying that I-“

“Shh,” Louis soothes and Harry watches his arm extend outward, presumably to calm his frazzled friend, “it’s all good Li. Just come on in. You can meet everybody, okay?”

Harry’s not sure he understands the message in Louis’ tone. The plea, command and encouragement all mixed up in one. That is until Louis steps into the room with the guy and things start to deteriorate. The lad himself is seriously beefed up and he looks dangerously close to Zayn’s type with his militaristic buzz cut, the angular jaw and a decent ensemble of blue jeans, a tight white shirt and a denim jacket that cuts off halfway down his arms just as Zayn’s does. Zayn practically falls over himself…and very nearly Louis, as he gets up to introduce himself. His hand shoots out like rapid fire and from his place on the couch, Harry can see the flirtatious glint in his eye, the Zayn Malik determination that he truly admires.

“Hello gorgeous, I’m Zayn.”

That’s the moment things start to fall apart. Louis looks at Zayn like he wants to shake him and vulnerable brown eyes fall to Zayn’s shoes. He looks about two seconds away from bolting and he’s completely silent. He doesn’t return the greeting or shake Zayn’s hand and Harry’s eyes are drawn to Louis, who cups Liam’s shoulder, a downward tilt to his mouth as he looks up at Zayn.

“This is Liam,” Louis says, as if he hadn’t mentioned it in front of Zayn just before, “he’s a personal trainer. Li…Zayn’s a model.”

“I know,” Liam mumbles.

Zayn’s hand falls and his eyebrows shoot up towards his hair.

“You do?” Zayn and Louis say at the same time.

Liam does lift his head now but his cocoa coloured eyes barely trace Zayn’s before they fly back to a place of comfort; Louis.

“I’ve seen him…at the gym and I-“Liam’s mouth twists indecisively and then he leans closer to Louis, talking just a fraction quieter as if it will somehow prevent the rest of them from hearing, “remember when I told you about that guy that I saw...in a magazine…and then he came to my gym and I, well you know-“

“Ohhh,” Louis’ eyes light up and he turns to Zayn with curled lips, “Liam is actually a big fan.”

Apparently this is enough to bring Liam out of his shell because he clamps down on Louis’ shoulder and glares at him with all the rage of someone who’s just had their crush outed by their best mate.

“Louis,” he says sternly.

“Don’t ‘Louis’ me,” Louis defends himself and Harry gets the inkling that he says that a lot, “I’m doing you a favour.”

“Fan, are you?” Zayn interrupts their squabbling, a softness in his voice that Harry is unused to hearing, even when he’s chatting someone up.

Liam flushes but meets Zayn’s look anyway as he attempts to push his sleeves up. They don’t budge at all.

“Well I-I guess, I mean…yeah.”

Louis’ teeth are showing and he looks about ready to kiss Liam, unable to keep still. Liam speaking to guys like Zayn with any degree of coherency must be a rarity.

“You never approached me,” Zayn accuses, disappointment in his tone, “why?

“I- I was afraid to-“

“Can I have your number?” Zayn interrupts, his voice still that weird shade of silky that Harry half enjoys and half finds unsettling.

Liam blanches and then looks at Louis in panic. Louis just raises his eyebrows and smiles tight lipped, as if to say, “go for it mate.” Liam does.

“Ah yeah,” he says nervously.

After the two have traded numbers, Liam blushing furiously while Zayn gazes at his face, studying him intensely, Liam takes Louis’ spot on the couch and Louis looks around for another place to sit. Niall shoves over on the couch (Harry might have pushed him) and Louis hesitates for a moment before planting himself in between them. Closer to Harry really. Not that he’s bothered.

“So,” Zayn says, cutting his hands through the air in that dramatic way he so loves to do, “you’ll never guess what the arse of a photographer said to me today.”

Harry leans forward and pours a drink for himself and Louis, passing it into Louis’ hand. Their fingers brush ever so casually when Harry pulls away. Niall knocks him on the side of his arm and when he turns to look at him, there’s an expectant, angry look on his face that says “where’s mine?” Harry just motions to the drinks on the table with a simpering smile. He’s not a waiter. He just wants Louis to feel looked after. It’s quite clear his boyfriend doesn’t do enough of that.

“Are you listening?” Zayn complains, piercing Harry with his glare.

Harry nods obediently and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“So he told me, he said,” Zayn tilts his chin up slightly and waves his hand in the air as he puts on his ‘photographer’ voice, “babe you’re absolutely stunning, just gorgeous but could you try looking less…angsty? I think it’s the cut of your jaw, if you could just…I dunno, I mean it’s just a bit angular…if you could fix that please love?”

Fix your jaw?!” Liam exclaims, flushing again as he realises he’s spoken without deliberation. It’s a touch endearing.

His voice is much quieter when he speaks again.

“How could you possibly make your jaw less angular?”

“Exactly,” Zayn says, his eyes hanging on Liam.

Harry doesn’t tend to be a very willing participant in Zayn’s photographer bashing. For obvious reasons. However, he will admit that this one sounds like a prat.

“I think it’s just these people,” Zayn sniffs, as though personally offended by the thought, “you know…photographers. They’re only in it to make themselves look good, not you.”

Liam nods with wide brown eyes as though this is a useful and poignant revelation. Harry coughs exaggeratedly. Louis raises an eyebrow and Zayn rolls his eyes again.

“Not you Harry. That’s different. Your photo shoots are all happy families and celebrations. You take mostly candids. Anyone can tell you’ve got heart.” Harry’s expression softens, “What you do…it’s not cutthroat like the modelling world.”

Louis’ hand brushes the side of Harry’s arm as he pulls his knees up and wraps an arm around them, tilting his head up at Harry, all curious. He looks a lot younger like this; his tattoo hidden from view and his eyes all soft and leaden.

“You’re a photographer Harry?”

Harry smiles at him and returns the arm touch. It’s only fair.

“Did the camera equipment in the corner say otherwise?”

Louis grins and then relaxes his legs slightly, tracing the line of his chest tattoo with a finger.

“Tattoos don’t make me a tattoo artist and a camera doesn’t make you a cameraman.”

Harry’s caught up in the light flashing in Louis’ eyes. It’s like one of those signalling lights they have in lighthouses that rotate in a circle, lighting up a different portion of the deep blue with every rotation. Harry leans forward, his hand sneaking out to rest on Louis’ jean clad knee. It feels rough under his fingers but the touch is weirdly satisfying so he splays his fingers and grips tighter.

“What makes you a tattoo artist then?” Harry cocks his head, “what makes me a,” Harry pauses using his free hand to form air quotes, “’cameraman?’”

“Passion,” Louis breathes, a huskiness to his voice that makes every other surrounding noise die in Harry’s ears, “the will to draw a tattoo or take a photo. You can get your body inked and you can use a camera to snap a selfie without having it be an integral part of your life. I mean, everybody has that one thing that sets them alight inside, that one thing that they can’t share with anybody else because it’s just theirs. It’s their keepsake. Whether that’s drawing on someone’s skin or snapping a shot of a couple at their wedding reception…I mean, that’s sort of our private sense of pleasure. No one can get inside it, no one can feel it quite like we can…yeah?”

Harry’s eyes are glued to Louis’ face. He gulps, trying to gather his thoughts which are in complete disarray. Louis is NOT just a pretty face.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees but he sounds breathless and embarrassingly high pitched.

 “About that,” Niall interrupts and Harry is suddenly aware that there are other people in the room, “about your passion…how did you get into that Louis?”

Niall leans around Harry to look at Louis, whose lips purse around a mouthful of his drink. Harry watches its journey down his rather lovely throat. He draws a finger round the rim of his glass as he answers the question, eyes squinted with concentration.

“When I got out of school, I studied to be a drama teacher,” Harry’s eyebrows are up near his hair and Louis notices, chuckling before continuing, “yes I know, most would be drama teachers don’t become tattoo artists but I never actually got to the teaching part. Drama was just the only thing I could think of really. Back in school I did a lot of productions so I thought, why not?” Louis shrugs, tossing his head a little and disturbing his soft fringe, a brilliantly carefree smile on his face as he continues. Harry thinks Louis might just be the only truly beautiful person he knows who DOESN’T know he’s beautiful. “So yeah, I went straight into a course I had no real desire to do for a job that I wasn’t at all invested in and two years in, I thought fuck it, this is not what I want. I hadn’t yet met Duncan and I didn’t have much keeping me here. So I travelled for a year or so with money I’d saved from a vast array of jobs I had in me younger years.”

“You travelled?” Zayn says, a note of admiration in his voice, “I’ve always wanted to but my parents think I should wait until I’ve earned more money. Wait until I’ve made a reputation for myself, you know. ‘Modelling is a fickle thing son.’”

Harry’s heard Zayn bitterly quote his father this way more times than he can count. Louis turns in Zayn’s direction, shaking his head, a fantastical gleam in his eye that tells Harry this is a subject he feels strongly about.

“Nah mate, you gotta go now. Go while you’re still young. That’s when it’s best. I went all over the place…spent a few months in Aus, went across Europe. Even by myself, I learnt so much. I started sketching stuff when I was in France. They have such great art…and Rome too, the history there. The ancient structures, they held this, this…” Louis rubs his fingers together, searching for a word he can’t locate.

“Authenticity,” Harry leans in to whisper.

Louis looks back over his shoulder with a slow forming smile that’s just for Harry.

“Authenticity…that I wanted to capture,” he gushes, turning back to Zayn. “And I’d never much been into art before or anything but I would just do these sketches at night when I got back to the place where I was staying or like, even at the landmarks if I could. And then, when my trip came to an end, there I was in an art class for beginners when I met this guy Art,” Niall’s laugh is loud and harsh in contrast with Louis’ velvety soft voice, “no really,” Louis turns to smirk at Niall, “his name was Art. I suspect it was short for something, Artie perhaps…but anyway, he was into tattoo design. He inked this,” Louis pulls the edge of his shirt down to expose his tattoo and his skin is so soft and smooth looking, Harry continues to gaze it even after Louis lets his shirt back up, “and basically taught me everything I know.”

“Cool!” Niall says enthusiastically, pushing Harry in the back of the shoulder, “H, isn’t that cool?”

Harry gives him a warning glare. A warning that says “you’re not a matchmaker and even if you were, Louis is taken.” Taken, Harry reminds himself as Louis sweeps his fringe to the side slightly and looks up at him as if he really were waiting for his approval.

“Yes,” Harry murmurs, “very…cool.”

He hopes Louis can glimpse the weight of all he’d really like to say stirring beneath the surface. Louis’ smile inches higher, his small, puffy cheeks inching higher too so Harry figures he does. Then he turns back to Zayn.

“Anyway man, you really should get a few friends together or just go on your own. Your choice of course but I discovered a career and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.”

Zayn looks mildly convinced which is exceptional since Zayn never looks even remotely convinced by anything Niall and Harry have to say on the matter. Harry supposes Louis is just that kind of person, unconsciously persuasive and hard to resist. Whatever, Harry is totally immune. Taken, he intones.

“I’ll think about it,” Zayn agrees with a relaxed smile.

Then he looks over at Liam and engages him in conversation. Liam blushes furiously as Zayn lavishes attention on him, touching his thigh and letting his teeth break his lips, his eyelashes dancing lower and lower along the lines of his cheekbones. He’s a vision. Harry can’t say he blames Liam for looking half like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and half like he wants to puke.

“H, I’m just going to go for a bit of a walk,” Niall announces suddenly, slapping his thighs and standing up with a determined light in his eye.

Harry spots the calculated plan immediately. Leave him alone with Louis while Zayn is too busy talking to Liam to interrupt. Arse. Harry narrows his eyes but keeps his tone perfunctory.

“A walk Niall? Now? It’s quite brisk outside. You might get cold.”

And die, Harry’s fiery green eyes say. Die by my hand. Niall just chuckles and pats him on the head.

“Aww Harry, such a good mate. Always worrying about me. I’ll be fine though.”

He disappears out the door too quickly to argue and Harry is left with Louis, their bodies closer than they need to be now that Niall’s gone. Neither of them moves away. At least until Harry’s nerves get the better of him.

“I’ll just get Hugh Grant,” he announces.

Louis’ expression freezes and his blue eyes go wide.

“Hugh grant?”

“My kitten,” Harry provides with a smirk, “you know…the furry cockroach.”

Louis throws his head back as a laugh springs from his chest, his eyes closing softly with mirth. So beautiful. Harry unfreezes his glazed over eyes and gets down on his hands and knees, reaching under the table to pull the small grey kitten with the huge brown eyes into his chest and up onto the couch. He holds the kitten up for Louis to see.

“Louis, meet Hugh Grant. Hugh, meet Louis.”

Louis eyes Hugh Grant with all the warmth of a freezer and looks quite clearly uncomfortable. It amuses Harry. He settles the cat in his own lap, stroking his fur as he looks up at Louis with a dimpled grin.

“You don’t think he’s cute?”

Louis’ eyes follow Harry’s hand on Hugh’s fur and then take in the little pink collar and bell. Harry refused to buy him a blue collar just because he’s a boy. These ridiculous societal expectations won’t confine his cat and Harry’s fairly sure Hugh prefers curling up on his pink button up than his blue one.

“I think you’re cute,” Louis says, a soft smile in his eyes but as Harry’s face freezes, Louis’ does. He keeps talking, his words blurring together with speed as his eyes form unhappy creases, “I mean…please don’t think I meant…I just meant that it’s cute the way you obviously-“

Harry squeezes his ankle and Louis’ eyes seize a little, his speech cutting off when Harry interrupts.

“It’s okay Lou,” he soothes, the nickname slipping off his tongue without much thought, “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Louis exhales and his scrunched up face springs back to it’s formerly peaceful state.

“So you named your cat Hugh Grant?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, “What was it? Bridget Jones’ Diary? Four weddings and a funeral? Notting hill? Or all three?”

Harry squeezes Louis’ ankle, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as he stares at Louis with complete horror. It makes Louis giggle and his hand slides over his mouth to contain the sound. It’s cute, adorable even, but Harry is still horrified.

“You. Forgot. The. Most. Important. One.”

Louis’ mouth twists as he tries to place the all-important movie but he shrugs, clearly lacking the all-important knowledge. Harry sighs, completely despairing.

“Love actually.”

“I haven’t seen it,” Louis confesses, flicking his fringe, unbothered, as if he hasn’t just admitted to the worst crime imaginable.

“Oh dear god,” Harry raises his palms to his face, “you’ve not lived. You’re what…24?” Louis nods, looking a touch surprised at the accuracy, “and you’ve not lived. This will not do.”

Louis giggles once more and this time Harry makes sure to appreciate the sound, his dimples lifting into place in response.

“Well hipster, enlighten me,” Louis lifts his hand into the air, as if weighing things in his hands, “I’m a love actually virgin.”

It’s too tempting. Too, too tempting. Harry cocks an eyebrow, a coy smile on his lips as his green eyes turn playful.

“Are you asking me to take your virginity?”

Despite the whole ‘cute’ incident, Louis looks unfazed. Perhaps because Harry initiated it. Anyhow, Louis’ grin stretches obscenely.

“I’m asking you to rock my world…with love actually.”

They both stare at each other for a moment, Harry’s stomach in knots and then collapse into laughter.

“Louis Tomlinson, you’re quite funny for a tattoo artist,” Harry says, still glowing.

Louis cracks another smile that sends a rush of exhilaration through Harry’s system and offers his own barb.

“Harry Styles, you’re quite clichéd for a hipster. Didn’t know you guys were allowed to like cheesy movies,” Louis teases.

Harry plucks the beanie off Louis’ head and drops it down onto the couch, reaching over to ruffle (and mess up) Louis’ hair. It’s soft beneath his hand and the ends slide through his fingers like silk. Louis beats his hand away and replaces his beanie with a glare.

“It’s not like a club,” Harry explains, “it’s not like there’s rules. If I wear something less eccentric, there’s nobody there to be like, “you can’t sit with us!””

“Mean girls?” Louis says with a laugh, “Harold, you’re pathetic.”

“You’ve clearly seen it though.”

“Four sisters,” Louis explains with a grin.

“Ah,” Harry nods, “pity you aren’t straight. You must be great with women.”

“No matter,” Louis shrugs, taking a long sip of his drink before resting his eyes somewhere deep in Harry’s, “I’m great with men too.”

Harry can’t help the flutter in his chest but he resist the urge to say, “I can see that.”  Louis seems to regret his comment anyway. His eyes darken and he leans awayfrom Harry, slouching slightly as he rests against the back of the couch.

“I mean… I’ve kept Duncan interested,” he says awkwardly, his tone completely off.

Harry looks down at his kitten and then shrugs to himself, lifting Hugh up off his lap and placing him down into Louis’. Louis sits up with wide eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to go find the movie don’t I?”

Louis huffs, his forehead creasing up but when Harry returns with the DVD in hand, he finds both Louis and Hugh sizing each other up with the same curiosity in their entirely too luminous eyes. It’s a start. He slides the disk into the DVD player just as Niall re-enters the flat and launches himself across the table and into his former spot. The movie starts to play and Louis leans in to whisper in his ear as it does.

“Thank you.”

Harry’s expression is confused. Louis’ eyes flicker quite purposely across to the other couch where Zayn and Liam sit close, Liam’s eyes flying to Zayn’s face and away every few moments while Zayn gazes at him, uninterrupted, a serene smile playing over his lips. Then Louis’ eyes flick over to Niall stuffing popcorn in his mouth and looking totally enraptured. He does love a good chick flick. Finally Louis squeezes his bicep. Louis’ glad he was invited. He seems glad to be hanging out with them. It’s okay that Harry feels like there’s a warm cloth pressed to his skin even once Louis retracts his hand…right? Louis is…magnetising. To say the least. Harry spends much of the time watching him instead of the movie. However, Harry’s still got Louis’ boyfriend’s ticked off expression in his mind and he’s not about to get all caught up in whatever it is they’ve got going on. Louis Tomlinson is NOT going to be his undoing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like friends references, makeovers and talking about things that I know nothing about (tattoo parlors and photography.) There's also a side of heavy angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter has some heavy angst at the end with some abusive-type stuff that may be upsetting. I hope you continue with the story because I promise there's so much good to come but if it's a sensitive issue, please feel free to leave it here.
> 
> This is not a comment on GQ or models. It's fiction with a slight undercurrent of truth because I do believe a lot of what Harry says in this chapter. Also, I know virtually nothing about GQ, photography and tattoos so if any of it sounds wrong, I apologise but I've done my best. I am quite sure this is not how magazines are constructed but it is in my head :P

Harry walks down the hall to the GQ office with an overly made up blonde resting her manicured, red fingernails on his lower back and fluttering her mascara laden eyelashes in his direction.

“Mr Tellman was just so impressed with your profile Harry…I mean” the blonde pauses, giggling as she presses a hand to her cleavage which is pushed up to her neck and shimmering with glittery bronzer, “Mr Styles.  Please forgive me for being so unprofessional.”

Harry fights the urge to roll his eyes or better yet, remove her hand from his back with a patronising, “I’m gay sweetheart.” He wants to make a good impression and he has no idea how this world works but there’s every chance that Mr Tellman will ask this annoyingly flirtatious receptionist for her opinion of him. He can’t risk being perceived as rude. With a forced cordiality in his tone and a dimpled, pearly white smile, he reigns in his irritation and meets her predatory gaze.

“Of course. Just between you and me,” he tells her, winking slyly and hating himself for it instantly.

She runs a hand down the back of her platinum blonde hair in response and her fingers press more insistently against his back.

“Maybe after your meeting with Mr Tellman, you could take me out on my lunch break?” She offers, just as they reach the formidable black door at the end of the hall.

Harry pauses with his hand on the doorknob, his smile slipping from his face at her forwardness. He supposes she’s just like any other single girl looking for a way out of the single life but the excess of sticky lip gloss and the heels that narrow to a near miniscule point, suggest that even if he were straight, she’s the type of woman who would swallow him whole. The type of woman who would probably ensnare him any way she could if she knew his affluent background.

“Sorry love,” he says, squeezing her elbow gently to ease the blow, “but I’ve got somewhere I have to be.”

“No matter,” she smiles too wide, “you’ll just have to take me out next time you’re here.”

“Course,” Harry lies and then pushes the dark door open.

The man seated at the huge oak desk is not what Harry would have expected from the editor of a men’s fashion magazine. He’s large and stout with patchy red cheeks and entirely too round glasses. His hair is dark and sprinkled with grey and he looks like he’s spent entirely too many years sitting here at this desk. However when he raises his eyes up, the directness of his cool, blue gaze proves to Harry that he’s got enough back bone to have earned his stellar reputation. He also scales Harry’s jeans, pale blue fitted shirt and navy trench coat with a sharp eye and what Harry likes to refer to as the ‘elevator’ look. 

“Styles?” He asks in a sharp, gruff tone.

Harry draws close to the desk and extends his hand to Mr Tellman, who he’s starting to gather is the type of man who looks eternally unimpressed. Even when the opposite may in fact be true. Mr Tellman grasps the hand offered to him and there’s a microscopic twitch of his mouth that might be his approximation of a smile.

“Miles Tellman,” he says, gesturing for Harry to take a seat on the other side of the desk, “editor of GQ.”

Harry nods. He’s well aware. He’s sent the man a summary of his pitch, along with his portfolio, more times than he could count over the past year. Or tried to send, is probably more accurate. There’s a process in which the people that work for him weed out the serious proposals from those that are destined to fail or are unworthy of a closer look. If Harry knew who finally let his pitch through, he’d buy them a bunch of flowers. Unless of course, it was the vulture-like receptionist out front, who’d probably construe that as a form of romantic proposal. He shudders to think.

“It’s an honour to meet you sir,” Harry confesses.

He’s not sucking up. He’s been reading GQ for years and to finally have a meeting with the man at the helm of things is certainly awe-inspiring. Had he expected someone a little more sophisticated who looked a little less like his great uncle Hester? Sure. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get an excited little buzz tingling down the back of his spine when he looks around the room and finds the walls covered with framed covers of GQ. He wonders if his idea might be up there at some point.

“Your portfolio is very different from the others,” Mr Tellman says, leaning across the desk to stare more directly at Harry, “and your CV is not what I usually look for.”

Harry expected this. He’s never sent his portfolio to a magazine before and it doesn’t speak to his professional abilities as such. Simply because he’s never done a professional shoot. He’s never wanted to in fact. Like Zayn had said, there’s heart in the way he does things and he’s never thought of professional photography as his forte.

His forte is pictures of family and extended family celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the grandparents’ marriage, their arms wrapped around each other, eyes slightly off focus from too much drink but watery with a languid kind of happiness, Harry instructing them to move in closer to fit everybody in. His forte is close up shots of a husband’s expression when he first glimpses his soon-to-be wife entering the chapel. That look on his face of complete disbelief mingling with bliss that Harry captures every time. That look that says, “I’m at a loss to understand why you’ve chosen me but I am so glad that you have.” Candids of children laughing and playing together at birthday parties, their chubby legs captured mid stride as they run from the friend chasing them. Pictures that capture the midway point of a laugh, where the teeth are exposed, the irises bulging with liquid blue or green and someone’s thrown their head back and completely given themselves over to humour; to the weightlessness of joy. That’s his forte.

Harry’s been content to capture these intimate moments in a semi-casual setting without any barking of orders, with no touch ups of make-up and hair (or at least not by a stylist) and no pressure to get the perfect shot. It’s all about capturing memories. It’s all about capturing life. He’s been satisfied with his career since he forged a path for it and hadn’t thought twice about it for the past few years.

Then, a year ago he’d been talking to someone at a wedding, the best man in fact, who had confessed he used to be a professional photographer but quit because he was tired of capturing images that were, if not unnatural to begin with, edited beyond recognition later. He said he’d spent enough time in that world to know it wasn’t giving way to revolutionary change any time soon, despite the growing demand for untouched pictures and plus sized models.

Harry happened to agree. It just wasn’t happening quickly enough to stop the current generation from growing up with body image issues and a false, unrealistic idea of beauty. Thus, Harry didn’t set himself the challenge of changing the way things were done completely but he did wonder if he couldn’t perhaps even briefly, influence his own demographic. If he could get his message across to just one guy, maybe that was significant enough in itself. That thought lead him here, to the office of one Miles Tellman, the editor of GQ, with an idea in his back pocket that he hopes will impress.

“I’m aware of that Sir,” Harry acknowledges, inclining his head to show respect, “but with all due respect, this shoot wouldn’t be like anything your other photographers have ever done.”

Mr Tellman’s eyebrows open up into sharp diagonals that look more like curious grey caterpillars than anything.

“So pitch it to me. I’ve had a brief look at the idea but I’d like to hear it straight from you.”

Harry takes a deep breath and tries to recall the speech he wrote just last night in hopes that he would be able to recite it eloquently and win Mr Tellman over at the offset. However now, in his moment of need, he can recall approximately none of it and is left only with his ability to improvise. He has to express this idea the only way he knows how; with his mouth delivering the words that originate from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“It would be sort of be like a before and after…but backwards.” Mr Tellman’s eyebrows open up even further, his blue eyes seeking more and it fills Harry with hope, “Like when you see those shots in magazines of celebrities before they lost the weight and then after. Or when someone gets a makeover and the shot where they’re all done up is always the after shot. I’d love to do a spread where we got a whole selection of ordinary guys with different weight ranges, ethnicities, hair colours…everything really…and shoot them as they are. Then, we’d get them all doled up in the latest fashions with perfect hair and make-up and we’d shoot them that way. The before shots would be the candids where they looked really happy, you know…really alive. The after shots…they’d look really well styled and done up…but their expressions. They’d be frozen in these rigid wax, figure expressions. No smiles, no natural emotion. Maybe we could even do them grayscale,” Harry gushes, passion flowing out through his mouth.

Mr Tellman is silent for a moment as he smooths a hand across the documents open on his desk.

“I picked you Mr. Styles because your pitch seemed the most genuine. It seems a lot more relatable than anything we’ve ever done but do tell me, what makes this so different from every other magazine shoot claiming untouched pictures and ‘real women’?”

Harry’s mouth lifts at the corner.

“Well we’re talking about real men for starters, not women. Society has taken to trying to show women that they don’t need to change their bodies or their faces to be beautiful. That maybe they don’t need to hide their flaws…. but what about men? I mean, I’m not telling you how to run your magazine Sir but I think GQ could stand to show a less airbrushed side of itself. I think a shoot with a little more character would be the best thing for this magazine at this point.”

Mr Tellman strokes his chin with his thumb and forefinger, a contemplative light in his eye.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Harry baulks. He’d wanted to believe he could succeed in this setting but the reality of it is startling.

“I’d like a prototype…a practice shot. Shoot a model and-“

“Sir,” Harry interrupts, “the whole point of the shoot is that the men have to be everyday lads. Not models.”

Mr Tellman inclines his head.

“Fine. Have it your way but I expect a number of test shots on my desk by Tuesday.”

Harry nods and then reaches across to shake the pudgy man’s slightly wrinkled hand.

“Thank you Mr Tellman,” the older man’s expression darkens and Harry rushes to correct himself, “I mean…sir. Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I won’t let you down.”

Mr Tellman simply nods, looking as stern as he had to begin with. So Harry releases his hand and makes to leave. Just as he’s about to reach the door, the deep, gravelly voice rises up once more.

“I like you Mr Styles.”

Harry permits himself a small, gratified smile and then quietly slips out of the office. He gets about five feet away from the building before it suddenly occurs to him that he actually has to plan the whole shoot now. He needs someone to model for him. Someone natural. Someone who’s beautiful but doesn’t quite know that they-Harry stops walking. It could work, he thinks. It would be masterful. If he could just get him to agree to it. Harry sets a new determined pace on the sidewalk to match the resounding determination in his mind. He will get him to agree. This is going to be the best damn test shot Mr Tellman has ever seen.

…..

Louis eyes the hot pink lacquer with a doubtful look.

“It doesn’t look like it comes right off,” he says, hitching his shoulder up higher to stop the phone from sliding out.

He’s holding a bottle of bright pink nail polish up to the light in one hand, twisting it this way and that as he pulls his shoes off with the other. He glares at the bottle as though if he stares at it hard enough, it may just crack under the pressure and reveal its secrets. Taylor’s trying to tell him that all it takes is a bit of nail polish remover and a light scrub to get it off but Louis’ seen the remnants of this shit remain on girls’ nails for months.

“Trust me Lou, if you want to get it off, it will come off.”

“I don’t want to put it on!” Louis insists.

It might be a slightly tall tale. He had enjoyed his experience with eyeliner for that dress up party and truth be told, he is slightly curious about what the pink shade might look like alongside his tanned skin. It’s not that he conforms to any stereotype. He’s currently rocking a slightly black t-shirt and dark skinnies, his tattoos on full display. Nor does he think it’s wrong TO conform to a stereotype per se but the point is, his slight curiosity is not a GAY thing. It’s a Louis thing. He’s always been keen to try new things. If someone says, “I bet you no one will drink this cocktail I’ve just mixed….it’s tequila, chocolate milk and juice,” Louis is there with a slightly devilish grin and a sense of adventure promising that he will. He’s just that guy. So he leans over, resting his foot on the coffee table while he positions the white cotton buds in between his toes.

“I swear, if you tell anyone about this…” Louis says threateningly.

He can practically hear Taylor’s eyes rolling in her head down the line.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No it’s not but if one of the lads that I tattoo, caught wind of the fact that I was wearing pink nail polish, I’m quite certain I’d lose their business.”

“You don’t need the business of close minded idiots,” Taylor contends, quite matter of fact.

Louis’ mouth twists. She might have a point. He unscrews the lid and then pulls the brush, coated in pink polish, from the bottle. He eyes it with caution one more time for good measure.

“Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?”

He’s certain she’s just rolled her eyes again.

“Perhaps because you’re a pessimist with trust issues?” Taylor offers.

Simply to prove her wrong, he leans down and swipes the brush across the nail of his big toe, employing gentle downward strokes until the whole thing is covered in a fantastic shade of pink. It really does look rather nice next to the dark of his skin.

“Well?” Says Taylor, “how does it look? Send me a picture.”

Louis is about to do just that when a soft knock sounds on the door. Louis freaks for a moment but then calms himself, realising it’s probably just Taylor. She finds it far too amusing to turn up at his door while still on the phone to him. Louis grins to himself and carefully stands, waddling over to the door and pulling it open with a loud and theatrical shout of, “welcome to Louis’ nail salon.”

Only it’s not Taylor. It’s Harry. Harry, his disturbingly attractive neighbour, dressed in a light blue fitted shirt that presses against his bulky arms, rocking deep blue jeans that look brand new and a matching denim head scarf. It takes Louis a moment to comprehend the true humiliation of the moment. Here he is brandishing his pink toe nail at his tall, curly haired neighbour with the perfect dimples and the soft looking, tremulous smile. His neighbour who he’s only recently become acquainted with. Louis pulls his foot back and drops his phone at the same time, flushing as he does so. Harry’s head falls back slightly, exposing his indecently large Adam’s apple that somehow seems to vibrate slightly as he laughs, clutching the side of Louis’ door for support.

“Louis?” Taylor’s voice rises up from the ground, “Lou, are you there? How did the nail polish go? Does it look good?”

Damn phone. It has this pesky habit of switching to loud speaker without Louis’ permission. This only seems to make Harry laugh more deeply and Louis’ trying to glare but it’s awfully difficult when he’s got this dope in front of him whose laugh is ridiculously infectious and who has dimples that twitch along with his mouth, for crying out loud.

Harry stops laughing and Louis is relieved but the relief fades when Harry bends down and plucks the phone up off the ground, switching off speaker and putting it up to his ear. Louis glares at him for real now, arms crossed as he mouths “give me back the phone or else” with what he hopes is a deadly threat bursting from his eyes. Harry’s mouth does that annoyingly charming twitch again and he mouths back “no chance” as he leans against the outside of the door jamb, his arm folded over his stomach.

“Hello,” he says, a rhythmic note to his deep tone, “Taylor? It’s Harry.”

There’s a slight buzzing sound as Taylor responds.

“Where’s Lou?” Harry scales Louis’ stiff posture with laughing green eyes, his mouth pulling up higher at the side, “oh he’s right here. I just wasn’t sure he’d be able to form words. He seemed a little,” Harry cocks his head, his impeccably white teeth breaking through his smile, “flustered.”

Louis wishes he could glare harder. Harry must understand because he chuckles at Louis’ expression and his balled up fists.

“What am I doing here?” Harry echoes Taylor, presumably for Louis’ benefit, who is still fuming in front of him, “I have something to ask Louis.”

Louis can’t help it. He raises a curious eyebrow at this, his fists unclenching slightly. Harry looks far too amused.

“Does it look good? Hmm, let me see.”

Harry drops down to the ground and then grabs Louis’ foot making Louis stumble with surprise. He keeps him in place by wrapping a hand around the top of his thigh, Louis’ breath halting noticeably as Harry’s eyes fly up to his, startled. Louis commences breathing and then Harry’s eyes trail back down to his foot. He grips the phone between his neck and shoulder as he keeps his hand around Louis’ thigh, using his other one to grab Louis’ foot, tugging it closer. His fingers are cold against Louis’ skin but they’re incredibly soft and when he squeezes the top of Louis’ foot, it feels…nice. It’s been so long since Duncan gave him a massage.

“It looks really good,” Harry says quietly, staring up into Louis’ eyes as his thumb skates over the top of Louis’ foot, “it’s a beautiful colour. Did you pick it for him?”

Harry and Taylor proceed to discuss nail polish for the next ten minutes. Harry doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, kneeling before Louis as he softly massages his foot. Louis doesn’t protest. In fact he very nearly cries out when Harry finally hangs up his phone and releases his foot, looking slightly sheepish. He tilts his head in the direction of Louis’ foot as he stands, brushing some dust from his denim clad knees.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs and his cheeks go a little pink.

He reminds Louis too much of a little puppy that needs to be petted and told that it’s all okay. Louis does exactly that.

“It’s fine Harry,” he smiles, “I mean…the laughter wasn’t so fine but-“

“I’m sorry,” Harry interrupts, suddenly sounding entirely unapologetic, “but if you had knocked on my door and I opened it, shaking my toe at you and welcoming you to my nail salon….you can’t tell me you wouldn’t find that amusing.”

Louis’ mouth shakes with his rising humour.

“Well I can’t say I’d be surprised if you did. However I think pink’s too mainstream a shade for you, perhaps something patterned?”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“I’m not THAT much of a hipster. I’m wearing a fitted shirt, aren’t I?”

“You’re also wearing an anklet, an owl necklace,” Louis taps the owl with his forefinger so it swings from side to side, “and boots that look like you purposely beat them against a wall to make them look all scuffed up and over used.”

Harry flushes.

“Knew it.”

Harry crosses his arms now.

“Ah, the tables have turned,” Louis says, with delight.

“Ha ha. Can I ask you now?” Harry says impatiently.

Louis is nonplussed.

“Ask me what?”

“The thing I came here to ask you. Remember?”

“Oh,” Louis gulps, suddenly nervous, “sure. Ask away hipster.”

“I was wondering if you would model for me,” Harry says with a completely straight face.

Louis can see the growing tension around his bright green irises as silence ensues.

“Excuse me?”

“I was wondering-“

“I heard you,” Louis snaps.

“But you said-“

“I heard you, I just-“ Louis reaches out and clutches Harry’s shoulder as he shakes his head, an indulgent, breathy laugh spilling out, “that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry frowns, his whole face pinching together until he looks entirely too displeased for Louis’ liking.

“Sorry Harold,” Louis continues to chuckle, “but you can’t actually be serious. I mean…you are aware that your best mate _is_ a model right? You know, the one with the perfect bone structure.”

Harry’s voice is tiny when he speaks, his head just barely lifted so that his pleading green eyes meet Louis’ directly, making his tummy squirm. Seriously, what is that? He might need to see a doctor about it.

“ _You_ have nice bone structure,” Harry says quietly.

Louis’ lips push up into a smile and he sighs, annoyed at Harry for being so charming.

“Why do you need a model anyway?” He asks, “I thought you did events, not professional photography.”

“Well,” Harry says and a bud of excitement starts to flower in his insanely green eyes, a contagious bout of energy bursting forth, “I don’t usually but I had this idea so I got a meeting with Miles Tellman from GQ and-“

Louis grabs Harry’s shoulders, his features frozen in shock.

“GQ?! You got a meeting with the editor of GQ? Harry, that’s fucking brilliant,” he exclaims.

Harry grins and Louis releases him, feeling frightfully endeared when Harry rocks back a little on his feet, unsteady.

“It kind of is, isn’t it?” Harry agrees, still glowing.

Cautious pride is a good look on him, Louis has to admit. His cheeks surely couldn’t lift any higher.

“Are you kidding?” Louis pushes his shoulder lightly, “mate, that’s seriously amazing. If I’d known you had such connections, maybe I would have pretended to like the cockroach.”

Louis winks at him and Harry’s mouth must be about to split in two.

“Hugh Grant,” he corrects, in a deliberately slow tone, as if Louis were incapable of understanding English.

“Cockroach,” Louis says, mimicking his tone.

Harry shakes his head but his grin is still huge so Louis pays no mind.

“So are you going to explain this further or do I have to beg?” Louis prompts.

Harry knocks his shoulder against his cheek with a mischievous grin.

“You could beg.”

Louis thwacks his arm and Harry throws his hands up in defence.

“Okay, okay. Well I had this idea. You know how like, every time they do a before and after shot, they always do the after shot with a load…I mean, a shit tonne,” Harry’s face creases and Louis rolls his eyes, “of make-up and the woman is always dressed to the nines. She looks beautiful but never really…alive, you know?”

Louis nods, getting lost in the impassioned light inside Harry’s eyes.

“Well I just thought it would be cool to like…reverse it,” Louis raises an eyebrow, “and do a photoshoot where the before shot was someone really dressed up and done up but doing those stiff looking faces that models do. You know, no smiles. Not because I have anything against models,” Harry rushes to add, “obviously…but because I want to show what the industry could morph into if we let it. An industry that parents don’t have to guide their children away from. I mean, I figure I can’t change it all with one spread in a magazine, even one like GQ but if I can change one person’s mind, just one, that could still make a difference. So yeah, I would shoot the before shots without any vitality, maybe edit out the colour. Because you know, usually it’s the opposite. They enhance the after shot to make it look miles better than how the person looked before.

“Then the after shots would be completely natural. No make-up, no flashy clothing. Just candids of men laughing and having a good time. Maybe with interviews with each one if Mr. Tellman likes that idea and then that’s the other key difference; that I chose to take it to a men’s magazine. I think men have just as many body issues as women but no one pays attention to it. No one wants to talk about it. I mean, I don’t know if it’s like ‘inspired’ or anything but-“

“Harry,” Louis’ voice has quieted considerably and it sounds much deeper as he tries to fathom this boy/man who has such hope and such idealistic passion bursting forth from his emerald eyes, “it’s a wonderful idea.”

Harry’s eyes softly stroke Louis’ face with a kind of contented gratitude that makes him feel sleepy. Like he could bask in that gaze for eternity. The thought is chilling. He coughs loudly to cover his discomfort.

“But I still don’t…I still don’t get why you’d need me for that.”

Harry smiles down at him, still looking all fond and appreciative.

“Because I want real men. With real beauty,” Louis jumps at this and Harry sees it, his eyebrows pulling together, “and Mr. Tellman asked me to do a test shot for the spread. You wouldn’t have to be in the actual spread. It would be just between the three of us. I’d pay you for it of course and-“

“I’ll do it,” Louis finds himself saying, his hand reaching out to wrap around Harry’s wrist, “and you won’t pay me Harold. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’ll do it, really?”

Harry’s boyish surprise is adorable. Louis grins as he reaches up and pinches Harry’s cheek.

“Next question mate,” he coos.

Harry raises an eyebrow and Louis’ hand falls away.

“That’s all I wanted to ask?” He says, with a question in his tone. “…I figured I was going to have to start threatening to tell people about the whole nail polish incident. You know, because now that we’re friends, I figured blackmail was okay.”

Harry winks and Louis finds himself chuckling, shaking his head at the oddly endearing enigma that is Harry Styles.

“Friends, are we?”

“I’ll be there for youuuuuu,” Harry sings.

Louis’ squirming stomach pipes up again hearing the huskiness of Harry’s voice. He ignores it.

“When the rain starts to pour,” Louis sings back and Harry’s eyes light up.

He throws his head back and laughs long and loud. Louis finds it devastatingly attractive and assumes he must have a boyfriend, even if he’s not a live-in one as such.

“I’ll be there for youuuuu,” Harry repeats, nodding at Louis as though worried he won’t play along.

“Like I’ve never been there before.”

“I’ll be there for youuuuuuuuuu.”

“Cause you’re there for me tooooooo.”

They both crack up laughing after Louis sings the last line. Just as their laughter begins to ebb, Harry looks down at Louis’ pink toe nail and it sets them both off again. When they do finally compose themselves, Louis’ throat aches from laughing so hard but it’s a pleasant kind of ache that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Harry looks rather pleased with himself too, eyes roving over Louis’ face carefully.

“So friend,” Louis pulls at the edge of Harry’s collar, “when do I start my modelling career?”

He bats his eyelashes up at Harry and is surprised when Harry’s bottle green eyes fly from the hand on his collar to Louis’ eyes and he steps back, looking slightly alarmed.

“I’ll um, text you,” he says, his voice rough, his eyes darting sideways to his flat as though he wants to bolt.

Louis feels only slightly offended but more than slightly curious as to what Harry’s problem is.

“Ah Harold, you don’t have my number.”

Harry blushes and his eyelashes flutter downward as he stares directly at his feet. Where is this shyness coming from? Louis wants to soothe the poor man-child so he steps toward him, outside his flat and proffers his phone.

“Pop your number in here mate,” he says gently, “and I’ll text you so then you have mine.”

Harry doesn’t say a word but he takes the phone and starts tapping away. He hands it back to Louis without looking up.

“Harry…are you okay? Did I do something-“

“No,” Harry’s eyes fly up to his, surprise flitting over his features, “no, of course not. I’m fine. I just-it’s nothing. Look, I’ll text you tomorrow but um, just pick two outfits to wear. Whatever you want. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay…” Louis agrees, still feeling bothered, “are you sure I didn’t do anything wrong?”

Harry’s hand lands on his shoulder and he cups it softly.

“Very sure. Have a nice day Lou.”

He smiles, dimples deeply set in his cheeks and Louis feels remarkably better.

“Have a nice day yourself.”

Louis backs away into his apartment and Harry begins to back away too. They beam at each other right up until Louis gently closes the door. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he does. He pulls it out and there’s five texts from Taylor. Louis groans as he realises Harry must have seen all but the last of them.

**Your fit neighbour is at your flat?!**

**And answering your phone?!?**

**Louis, I need details.**

**Was he flirting? It sounded like flirting.**

**CALL ME**

....

Louis checks his appearance in the mirror for the fiftieth time and sends a quick snap to Taylor who responds with a thumbs up. He’s decked out in some black jeans that are frayed at the ends and a black Henley covered by a denim vest. He’s wrapped a grey scarf around his neck and has on a matching beanie tugged down over his messy fringe. He wasn’t sure how casual to go but he figures what he’s got planned for the ‘before’ shot will blow what he’s wearing now out of the water. He hopes. He still feels fucking terrified to dress himself up in front of Harry and have the lad take modelling shots of him but he attempts to calm himself down with a deep breath, reminding himself that even though the editor of GQ is going to review these shots and even though his ability to model might make or break Harry’s proposal, he’s going to be okay. He’s got this.

Louis tries to remember the guy he used to be. The guy he still is, somewhere deep inside. The one who wouldn’t think twice about a photo op or anything that meant being in the limelight. He was never conceited but he knew his strengths and he always flaunted them to the best of his ability. Then Duncan came along and suddenly the only thing Louis was sure of was that he was in love with someone who was as predictable as an episode of Game of Thrones, that show where everybody dies. Not that Louis has seen it but Taylor calls to complain that her favourite characters have died often enough that Louis thinks he now understands the gist of it. The point is, Louis’ lost his mojo so to speak.

He makes it to Harry’s door but he can’t quite find the courage to knock yet. He does a little jump and blows on his hands like he’s about to run an Olympic race and then pulls his cologne from his bag, spraying one last time before he gently taps on the door. Harry opens up with a huge smile on his face (of course), a black shirt with what looks like yellow and orange shooting stars covering its expanse and some dark jeans. Louis looks beyond the couches and the TV to the dining area where he glimpses a greyish-blue toned, square backdrop that stretches up the wall and across the floor of Harry’s living room. It’s in place of the long, wooden dining table that had stood there last time Louis was here. There’s a chair sitting in the middle which Louis presumes is for him and a chunky, black piece of camera equipment set up facing the same spot. Louis also notes the wide assortment of hair and make-up products that are spread across the dining table which is pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“Hi,” Harry says with enthusiasm, “you look great.”

Louis shrugs, his eyelashes feathering out across his cheekbones slightly as he suddenly finds Harry’s shoes a lot more interesting than his face.

“Oh…well, I didn’t know how casual I should dress so I just picked something that I sometimes wear to work,” Louis pats the overnight bag that he’d used to pack his change of clothes, “but I’ve brought something for the before shots too. Just figured it makes sense to do the natural looking ones first.”

“Course,” Harry agrees and when Louis finally raises his eyes back up, he finds Harry trying to bite down on his curvaceous grin.

“Louis, are you nervous?”

“No,” Louis denies hotly, “what would I have to be nervous about,” he runs a hand down his hair to the base of his neck which is betraying him by flushing, “I’m beautiful.”

“You are,” Harry agrees but he’s no longer grinning and he tugs on the ends of Louis’ scarf, pulling him inside, “the beautiful boy next door.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him and Harry starts, avoiding his eyes as he turns and walks through his flat.

“Welcome back to my humble abode,” he says, sounding slightly off.

Louis might be enjoying it a bit. He walks up behind Harry and stretches up on his toes, tucking his head over the other lad’s shoulder and looking sideways at him. He finds Harry’s green eyes caught in a state of wide-eyed shock, his mouth having fallen open slightly.

“Thanks for having me love.”

Louis’ voice is slightly rougher than he intended. He didn’t quite think this one through. Their faces are very close together and Louis can see every individual eyelash, every crease on Harry’s seductive, plush looking mouth. He notes the intriguing contrast between the rose colour fanning over Harry’s cheeks and the pale, milky colour of his throat and then sets himself back down, laughing absurdly loud.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says, just for something to say, “If Duncan knew…”

Harry turns around to look at him, a curious light in his eye.

“If Duncan knew…?” he prompts.

Suddenly Louis feels self-conscious. He pulls one hand through the other and rocks back and forth on his heels, his beanie slipping a little. Harry reaches down and tugs it back into place, a small smile on his lips.

“If Duncan knew…” Louis tries to gauge how Harry might respond but it’s impossible to tell, those glowing green orbs showing nothing but a kind of keen interest as Louis lets the rest out in a gust of breath, “he probably wouldn’t let me do this. Or see you. He wouldn’t want me to see you.”

Harry’s breath hitches and Louis tries not to take it personally. He knows his relationship with Duncan is a very difficult thing for other people to understand.

“He wouldn’t even let you see me?” Harry asks, disbelief written all over his expression, “I mean, why? Because I complained about the noise?”

“No,” Louis swallows noisily, “because I’m not allowed to have male friends he doesn’t approve of. All of my male friends are his friends.”

There’s another quiet gasp that Harry tries to disguise. Louis’ knocking his foot against his other foot now, trying to stop the shame that’s rising up to his face and filling it with colour. He’s not sure why he’s ashamed. For being the kind of boyfriend that Duncan feels he can’t trust perhaps. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he feels Duncan’s words tearing at his soul once more. _If you hadn’t been with so many men, maybe I could trust you. If you weren’t such a slut, I wouldn’t have to be the bad guy all the time._

“What about Liam?” Harry questions, interrupting Louis’ bout of self-loathing.

“I-“Louis pauses, “Duncan doesn’t really know. He thinks Liam is just my trainer. He only allows it because I need to keep fit...because he hates it when I put on-“

Louis cuts himself off. He’s not ready to share the ins and outs of his relationship with Harry yet. Harry looks like he knows the end of that sentence anyway because he doesn’t say a word. He just pulls Louis into his chest and winds a pair of long, gangly arms around his body.

“What are you doing?”

Harry sounds quite amused when he responds.

“Hugging you.”

“I-don’t pity me Harry,” Louis says sternly, “there’s no reason to. I don’t need that from you because-“

“Hey,” Harry interrupts, voice like velvet as he pulls back slightly to look at Louis’ disgruntled expression, “I don’t pity you Lou. You just looked very huggable. Is that okay?”

Louis’ smile is trying to lift his mouth while he works against it, trying to tamper it down. The smile wins out.

“Yes, that’s okay.”

They smile warmly at each for a moment and then Louis pushes Harry lightly in the chest until he retracts his arms.

“So are we gonna get this show on the road or what?”

Harry nods and then points at one of the couches.

“If you’d just sit over there for me.”

“On the couch?”

“Yeah, I’m going to set the camera up to shoot candids while I interview you. I want you to relax. We’re just having a conversation…I don’t want you to think of it as a photoshoot,” Harry advises him.

Louis strides over to the couch and pulls his legs up underneath his bum while Harry fiddles with the camera, bringing it over and placing it in front of the TV.

“You know….saying don’t think of it as a photoshoot is a lot like saying, don’t think of the purple elephant.”

Harry chuckles as he presses a button on the camera and then turns it in Louis’ direction.

“Either way, the camera loves you baby,” Harry says, winking at Louis with a quirk in his mouth.

Louis tries to ignore the spike of activity in his digestive region and instead concentrates on relaxing his expression, pretending that there isn’t a camera going off across from him. Harry seats himself down across from Louis and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He shakes it from side to side.

“Just going to record your answers if that’s okay?”

Louis nods his consent and Harry lays his phone down on the coffee table.

“Full name?”

“Louis William Tomlinson.”

“William,” there’s a ghost of a smile dancing over Harry’s plump lips, “I like it.”

“And _your_ middle name?” Louis enquires, leaning forward slightly.

Harry’s expression is bewildered.

“This is your interview, not mine.”

Louis bats his eyelashes at him, his lips firmly pressed together in his most charming smile.

“So I’m not allowed to ask you any questions?”

“If I knew this was going to be this difficult, I’d have asked Niall.”

“Why didn’t you?” Louis presses.

Harry looks slightly caught off guard.

“I-I wanted someone who…who wasn’t really aware of it.”

Louis is truly curious now, cocking his head to one side as he studies Harry’s slightly nervous expression.

“Aware of what?”

Harry finally meets his gaze head on. Louis watches him swallow, his adam’s apple jumping and his eyelashes fluttering quickly for a moment before his calm appears renewed. His emerald eyes sweep Louis’ body slowly, hanging on each and every feature for a moment before descending lower. It’s like he’s reached into Louis’ torso, grabbed his heart, lungs and stomach in one hand and pulled, yanking them forward in his direction.

 No one’s ever looked at Louis this way before. With such intention; like there’s a desire to know every inch of him. Yet equally with no intention at all; no desire to plunder or ruin. No judgement. Only something that feels a lot like amazement or reverence or something that Louis feels he surely can’t be worthy of. Not from anybody but especially not from someone as stunning as Harry. Yet it’s happening. Harry’s eyelids finally draw back, his eyelashes rise and his opal shaped, lush green eyes meet Louis’. Louis’ lungs are caught mid-breath, unable to expand or move around this thing blocking up his chest.

“Someone who’s not aware of how captivating they can be. How breathtaking they are.”

Louis is at a loss for words. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Harry is confessing a certain appreciation for beauty, that’s all….but it’s _Louis_ he’s talking about. Louis wants to laugh at the ridiculous notion that he’s captivating but deep down, he also wants to believe. Maybe, when those intense mossy green eyes implore him to do so, he does.

Louis leans forward and squeezes Harry’s hand.

“Thank you.”                                        

Harry’s smile is small and a touch self-conscious as he glances down at their hands touching.

“You’re welcome Lou.”

“So hipster, are you going to tell me your middle name or not?”

Louis breaks the serene atmosphere with that one sentence, leaning back and kicking one leg up over the other as he waits for Harry’s response. Harry chuckles and nods.

“Edward.”

“Like Edward Cullen?”

“I vant to suck your blooood.”

Louis lets out a long peal of laughter and then knocks Harry’s hand off the arm rest, a teasing light filling his eye.

“He’s not Dracula you dork.”

Harry just shrugs, his wide grin lighting up his eyes brilliantly.

“Tell me…where did you grow up, Louis William Tomlinson?” he asks, curiosity burning in his expression.

“Doncaster,” Louis says with a nostalgic smile, a pang of homesickness hitting him as he thinks of his mum, “had the best childhood anybody could ask for.”

Harry’s still smiling but his eyes are a little less bright, the dimples are little less pronounced and Louis feels like his own proclamation may have struck a nerve. Before he can ask, Harry himself is asking another question.

“So you get along with your family then?”

Louis bobs his head.

“Yeah. My mum is like the best woman I think I’ll ever meet,” Harry’s dimples return, “…she’s just so brave. You know, because dad left pretty soon after I was born but that didn’t stop her. She met Dan when she was pregnant with Lottie and then they had Fizzy and the twins, Daisy and Phoebe, together. And Dan is such a good dad to all of us. Never discriminated between me and Lottie and the rest. We were all his kids. He loved us all a bunch.”

“Sounds like a pretty tight brood,” Harry surmises, a hint of sadness in his eyes again.

“Yeah we are. Mum’s even pregnant again with another set of twins. I’ve been sending her lists of names since she found out but she just didn’t seem to take to the idea of naming the boy baby Louis junior and the girl baby Taylor junior. Can’t imagine why.”

Harry chuckles at this and Louis feels marginally better about drawing out that sadness.

“And your family always supported you?”

Louis feels like this is a weighted question and his mouth twists as he tries to find an answer that won’t upset the seemingly delicate man before him. He ends up settling for the truth. He never has been too fond of bullshit.

“Yes. Unequivocally.” Harry’s expression tightens, “My mum was ecstatic when I finally chose a career path and Dan was actually my first real customer. I’ve never known anything but unconditional love. I can’t imagine what it would be like without that. I mean, doing it on your own…that takes even more courage. You’d have to be your own support base in some respects but see, I don’t think a good home necessarily means a good life or that an empty home will land you with an empty life.”

“You don’t?”

Harry looks eager now as he rests his forearms on his knees and leans close to Louis. Louis smiles at him, resisting the urge to pat a spiky curl back into place.

“No. I think you make your own luck. I think people who are cherished their whole childhood are just as capable of doing terrible things and finding themselves unhappy. People who have lived in broken homes and the like are just as capable of being brilliant. It’s not really about where you come from Harold. I think it’s about where you go, how far you take it. It’s determined by what’s beating in your chest. Your own will. That force pushing you to do better. It’s not about what you’re born into. If you’re a good person and you want to do good,” Louis says meaningfully, “you will. Regardless of where you came from.”

Harry’s eyes are partially glazed over but then he blinks and a brilliant smile fills his features. Louis pretends he doesn’t see the hint of water shimmering in his green irises.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, “you could do like…motivational speaking or something.”

Louis throws his head back and lets out another high peal of laughter.

“Oh Haz,” he says, humour mingling with fondness. Harry’s eyes hang on him, so intense…so gently admiring, “you must have gone and knocked your head.”

Harry chuckles.

“Perhaps. Okay so um, tell me about your hobbies?”

“Um, tattooing-“

“Louis.”

“What? It _is_ my hobby. Okay no need to roll your eyes at me. Hmm let me think. I used to like going out a lot and dancing, drinking you know. I mean I still do…but only when Duncan’s away. I really shouldn’t. He hates it when I do and I really shouldn’t keep it from him….but I don’t do anything with other guys, I really don’t,” Louis says earnestly.

“I know.”

“How could you? You don’t even really know me,” Louis says sceptically.

Harry grabs Louis’ hand and counts on his fingers, squeezing each one as he talks.

“For starters, I know you love Duncan. I also know you’re good to the people you love, I see that in your eyes and lastly, I hear the fear in your voice.”

Louis snatches his hand away.

“Fear?”

Harry looks like he might regret his words. He bites his lip, looking tense but then lets the truth bubble up over his lips anyway. Louis might respect him all the more for it.

“When you talk about him, I feel it. You’re scared of doing anything that might upset him.”

“But I-“

“Lou,” Harry catches Louis’ hand that’s risen up in protest, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing…or a good thing. I’m just telling you what I see; what I sense. That’s how I know you would never cheat. I’m sorry you don’t get to go out much. I think you’d be a lot of fun on the dance floor.”

It’s the first time someone’s made an honest comment on Louis’ relationship with Duncan without forcing the issue, without making it clear that Louis’ making a mess of his life by staying with him. It unfreezes Louis from his tense state and suddenly he’s holding Harry’s hand and squeezing as he responds.

“Oh I am. I’m a dancing queen…in every sense of the term,” Louis promises with a smirk.

Harry squeezes his hand back.

“Only seventeeeen,” he sings.

“Well, 24 going on 17,” Louis corrects with a laugh.

“Of course. But seriously…your hobbies?”

“Okay okay,” Louis claps his hands against his thighs, “I’m really into footie. Manchester united of course,” Harry flashes him a thumbs up and Louis grins, “and ah, I don’t know…I don’t have too many hobbies. I spend a lot of time with Duncan I guess. I’m okay doing what he wants to do as long as I’m with him you know. I used to play a bit of piano. I like sketching new designs. Oh and I don’t mind the occasional friends marathon when Duncan’s away. He hates friends.”

“And you’re still with him?” Harry says with a wink.

Louis freezes and Harry presses his thumb into Louis’ tiny palm which reminds Louis that they’re still holding hands. He retracts his hand.

“It was a joke Lou,” Harry says with sorrow.

Louis feels like an idiot. He rolls his eyes…at himself.

“Forgive me. I’ve heard that more times than you know. It’s tiring,” he explains.

“I’ll bet.”

They gaze at each other for a moment, a current of understanding, or something slightly deeper, flowing between.

“I think we’re done,” Harry says abruptly, jumping up.

“Done with what?”

Harry raises a dark eyebrow and reaches up to adjust his head scarf.

“The interview. The candids. Remember?”

Louis’ like a deer caught in headlights as he realises that in the short time they’d been speaking, he’d forgotten all about the camera and the whole reason for him being here. It’s a strange feeling.

“Right. Course.”

Harry looks thoroughly amused.

“Um so should I go get changed now?”

Harry nods as he fiddles with the camera, detaching it from the stand.

“Take whatever from the dining table. Make up. Hair stuff. I got it all for you. I’d help you with it but I need to set up my camera so-“

“It’s fine,” Louis cuts him off, standing up with his stuff and making his way over to the dining table, “I’m happy to do it myself.”

“Excellent. The hallway is just through the door in the kitchen and the bathroom is the second door on the left.”

Louis smiles his gratitude, gathers his collection of beauty products in his arms and then strides through the kitchen, opening the door to a short hallway housing four doors, two either side. It’s slightly different to his flat but not so much so that if he squinted his eyes, he couldn’t be fooled into thinking it was his own.

The bathroom is in impeccable shape, utterly pristine with no major interruption to the pearly white colour scheme other than Harry’s orange set of towels. Harry’s hair products, his razer and a few moisturisers are neatly lined up in his cabinet which Louis snoops in, of course. He pretends not to be curious about who Harry uses the condoms with and tries quite unsuccessfully not to notice the size printed on the box. Harry’s hot pink toothbrush lies on it’s lonesome in a little clear jar under the mirror and Louis takes that as further indication that he doesn’t have a serious boyfriend.

Finally Louis decides he better get to work so he pulls his outfit from his bag and arranges his chosen products next to the sink. He feels a slight hint of uncertainty about this but it’s too late now. He can’t let Harry down and he’s got no other alternative to what he dreamt up in his bed last night when he was mentally filing through his wardrobe. So he pulls the scarf and the beanie off quickly and with a quick nod at himself gets to work.

……

Harry has just finished setting up the camera in front of the backdrop when he hears the sound of Louis’ bare feet emerging from the kitchen into the living room. When he looks up, he feels like he should have been given more warning.

“Fuck,” he breathes and he can feel how wide his eyes are, zooming in on the inhumanly beautiful man stood in his flat, looking up at him with a creased brow.

“You just swore,” Louis says, looking panicked, “you’re not the swearing type. It takes concentrated effort for you to say shit. Is it that bad? I can go change…”

Louis starts to move back but Harry rushes forward to stop him, wrapping a hand around his delicate wrist, and pressing a thumb to his pulse which he can feel is completely erratic. Same as Harry’s really. Although he suspects his heart is beating too quickly for an entirely different reason.

Louis is flawless. He’s got on a black button up with the sleeves pushed up and a stiff collar that glides against the tan of his throat when he moves, bowing his head to look down at his clothes. He’s wearing a dark black belt that separates his shirt from a pair of markedly tight leather pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, accentuating the perfect shape of his thighs which narrow down into muscled calves. However the worst part by far, or the best part depending on how much you value your sanity, is Louis’ face.

He’s wearing only light make-up over most of his face, just enough to distinguish these shots from the natural ones but around the bottom of his eyes, he’s used felt tip eyeliner and it makes the sparkling blue of his eyes pop. He looks completely bad ass but his blue eyes are as intolerably vulnerable as ever, the juxtaposition too immense. Harry’s never been attracted to a guy wearing eyeliner before but he feels himself twitch slightly looking at his sexy, tattooed, leather-wearing neighbour whose hair is piled into a perfect, soft looking quiff and who still looks completely oblivious to his own appeal. Harry predicts it might be extraordinarily difficult to make these shots look lifeless. Louis is equally beautiful without make-up and nice clothes and Harry would rather his men without frills any day of the week but he can’t deny that Louis is electrifying like this. He feels like Danny fawning over Sandy at the end of Grease. He kind of just wants to drop to the ground in complete worship.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Harry says, coughing a little as he tries to cover the tremulous note to his voice, “you look perfect. Overly made up perhaps, like I meant for you to be but really…I don’t mean to offend…”

“What is it? You can tell me if it’s too much. Is it the eyeliner? I know it’s quite feminine but I-“

Harry pushes on the seam of Louis’ mouth with his thumb, finding that the slight hint of moisture upon Louis’ tiny mouth does weird things to his already jumbled nerves.

“You look very sexy,” Louis’ eyes are like saucers in his face as Harry pulls his finger from Louis’ mouth, “I’m sorry if that’s out of line. I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just…true.”

Louis smiles now and it’s tiny, just a tug at the corners of his lips but he may as well be yanking on Harry’s heart. His decadent blue eyes are overflowing with wonder and a wistfulness that makes Harry think Duncan doesn’t say things like that too often. He doesn’t make Louis feel like the masterpiece he is. It bothers Harry more than he’d like it to.

“Thank you,” Louis says, voice all scratchy and muted. “I’m not offended.”

Harry tries to brush off his own concern as he grabs Louis hand and winks at him, letting a cheeky grin push his cheeks up toward his eyes.

“Twirl for me.”

Louis lets out a surprised laugh.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not twirling for you.”

“I would so love to know what Niall and Zayn would say about that nail salon-“

“Okay,” Louis throws his free hand up in defence, “no need for threats.”

Louis grasps Harry’s hand and raises their hands up as he spins slowly, catching Harry’s eye as he does. Harry’s rather breathless, copping an eyeful of Louis’ voluptuous bum as he spins. Said bum presses so keenly and provocatively up against the tight leather, that Harry’s about to have a problem pressing up against the front of his own trousers.

“Now that we’re done with the twirling,” Louis says, facing Harry again, “can we get the whole serious photoshoot out of the way?”

“Wait,” Harry says, pressing a hand to Louis’ collar bone and reaching up to undo the first two buttons on Louis’ shirt.

He pulls on the sides of the shirt to open it up so that it exposes more of Louis’ smooth, silky looking skin. Louis’ eyes are awfully close when he looks up at Harry.

“Was that necessary?”

Harry’s mouth quirks.

“Absolutely.”

Louis shakes his head at him but doesn’t argue as he makes his way over to the backdrop and seats himself on the chair. Harry strides confidently over to the camera and surveys him for a moment, trying to think of how best to instruct him.

“Okay…um, what I want you to do first is to um-“

“Very eloquent Mr. Photographer,” Louis interjects with a smirk, the dark ink beneath his eyes curving up at the sides.

Harry stares him down.

“Some respect would be nice.”

Louis just snorts.

“Okay, I know. I want you to turn the chair around and sit on it backwards with your arms atop the back of the chair.”

Louis follows Harry’s instruction but it still doesn’t have enough formality to it. Harry wants these shots to look more rigid than anything. It’s a challenge, given the natural expressiveness of Louis’ face.

“Okay Lou,” Louis’ lips quiver with a smile at the use of the endearment that’s slipping off Harry’s tongue with increasing regularity now. Harry’s heart melts a little in his chest, “I want you to stretch your legs out to the sides and try to like, point your toes. I also want you to smoulder at me. No smiling. No crinkly eyes.”

“Smoulder?”

Louis looks very confused.

“Yeah. You know… like I’m a cute guy at a bar…no wait, say I’m Duncan and you’re trying to get my attention. It’s sort of like an angry look but more sexy than angry. Like you want to dominate me.”

Louis eyebrows jump up and he splutters on air. Harry barks out a laugh.

“Not actually dominate me. I’m just saying it because I’m behind the camera. Can you smoulder for me Lou?” Harry trills.

Louis extends his legs outward and they look much longer like this, the leather stretching taut across his muscles. Harry feels slightly dizzy looking at them. Louis’ face transforms as he pulls his mouth into a thin line and narrows his eyes slightly. It’s not as magnificent as his smile, which is what Harry intended. Still, as he presses the button on his camera and takes a number of shots, he feels attracted to the piercing look in the slitted blue of those eyes.

“Okay, next I want you to move the chair off to the side,” Louis complies and Harry nods his approval, “and then, turn around and press one hand up against the backdrop and then twist your body slightly to look at me over your shoulder.”

Louis doesn’t move and Harry gestures with his hand for Louis to get to it. Louis crosses his arms.

“It’s just so....poser-ish,” Louis complains and Harry rolls his eyes, “yes I know that’s the point but Harry I…I feel ridiculous. I’m not a model. What if I screw it up?”

“You won’t. I promise you. You might feel ridiculous but you look the polar opposite, I swear to you. How’s this? I’ll come show you all the shots before I take them to my meeting and if you don’t like them, I won’t use them. I promise,” Harry vows.

Louis nods, still looking slightly hesitant but when Harry smiles at him, he matches it with a warm smile of his own and then follows Harry’s instruction. Harry’s cock jolts as the sight of Louis pushing his bum outward fills his vision. He might not have thought this through.

“Splay your fingers Lou,” Harry calls and Louis does just that.

Something about it is still slightly off. Louis’ other arm is hanging limp by his side and his legs don’t look quite right either. Harry chews on his lip for a moment and then stalks purposely over to Louis. Louis jumps when Harry reaches down and catches his hand.

“This,” Harry says, “needs to go here.”

He slots his fingers through Louis’ and then brings Louis’ hand up to rest where the curve of his hip gives way to the curve of his arse. Harry pulls his fingers away quickly to ensure he doesn’t end up groping his very much taken neighbour.

“Really?” Louis sighs with pained eyes, his head falling back on the space between his shoulders with defeat.

Harry grins at his upside down face.

“Really.”

Then he drops down to his knees and grips the sides of Louis’ thighs. There’s a choked noise from above but Harry barely hears it as he concentrates on widening Louis’ stance and not thinking about the fact that it’s been so long since he was on his knees for a guy that he was genuinely attracted to.

“You done?” Louis asks, sounding thoroughly deprived of oxygen.

Harry stands and skates a hand across Louis’ shoulder.

“Done.”

When he returns to the camera however, he still finds that one last adjustment is in order.

“Okay this is good but um, can you do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Can you lean forward and just ah…push your bum out a little bit more?”

Louis’ eyes are baleful and Harry might be blushing.

“Is this for GQ or a porno magazine Harold?”

“I’m sorry…if you’re not comfortable with me, I-“

Louis slides his hand higher up the wall and pushes his behind further out. Taken, Harry chants. Taken by a complete arse who probably doesn’t appreciate _his_ fine arse but taken nonetheless.

“Great. Thank you,” Harry says stiffly…professionally.

Louis raises an eyebrow but then smooths his expression out as Harry presses the shutter button and tries to remember that time he broke his arm and the nurse asked him to breathe through the pain. This feels a lot like that. Only the pain stems from too much pleasure. Too much pleasure that he should NOT be feeling about someone with a boyfriend.

……

“Which one of these designs would you like love? I know you said originally you wanted the heart but you were worried about the pain. If you just get the name…it might hurt a little less.”

The perky blonde waitress tilts her head, looking at the sketches he’d done for her last time she was here. She hadn’t been able to decide then and had told him she’d be back with a decision. He’d been happy enough to wait. Louis is known for his patience and compassion as a tattoo artist and it is, perhaps, one of the reasons he’s had a steady stream of business ever since he first set up his shop.

Despite the number of times he and Duncan have moved, his shop has stayed in the same busy London Street that he’d chosen in the beginning. Simply because Duncan’s workplace is quite close to his own and Duncan had never wanted to move too far from his work.

Louis’ tattoo parlour is a small little shop tucked between a bakery and a used clothing store with slightly muted lighting and a sign that Louis himself made which simply says ‘Louis’ Tattoo Parlour’ in thick black, block letters. The neighbouring shopkeepers had been up in arms when he’d first opened years ago, thinking he would attract a legion of thugs to their upstanding, morally superior businesses. However they retired their artillery for good when they realised he just didn’t accept those kinds of customers.

Sure, he’d tattooed plenty of beefed up blokes who had crooked looking noses and faded scars upon their skin but a lot of them weren’t as tough as they looked and Louis always used his right to refuse service at the first sign of trouble. Some of the rough looking ones were actually sweeter than the regular-looking customers. In fact, Basil, one of the most scary-looking ones, who wears a red and white checked bandana, has bulging muscles and is constantly sporting a black eye or a fat lip, had asked Louis out after Louis completed his third tattoo. He’d also accepted it quite calmly when Louis politely declined and told him he had a boyfriend. Louis hadn’t mentioned it to Duncan.

Louis’ mind flashes back to the present as Aishling, the petite blonde, sits up on the black, dentist-like chair, her eyes narrowed with concentration. Her bright blue eyes dart between the two images. Suddenly she looks up at him with a dazzling smile.

“Do the heart Lou. It’s what mum would have wanted. Worth the extra time…and the pain.”

A tender smile graces Louis’ face as he rubs her shoulder and takes his sketch book from her hands.

“You’re really brave love. I promise I’ll stop whenever you need me to. Your mum would be so proud of you.”

Aisling’s eyes tear up and Louis’ heart pounds a little in his chest as thinks of his own mum and how lost he’d be if anything ever happened to her.

“Thanks. Now let’s get this show on the road so you can tell me about your big night out,” Aisling says, pointing at the shadows beneath Louis’ eyes that are partly due to his inability to scrub the last of the eyeliner off and partly due to the fact that after hearing Harry call him “sexy,” he had found himself tossing and turning in bed all night, wondering why his neighbour can see something in him that it often seems Duncan can’t.

……

It’s late afternoon and Louis’ finished with the last of his clientele for the day. He’s curled up on the couch at home, nursing a mug of tea between his jean clad thighs, wrapped in his favourite over-sized black jumper as he dials the number on his phone.

“Hey,” comes the slightly brash tone.

“Hi baby,” Louis says, excitement lighting up his face as he thinks of being wrapped up in Duncan’s arms tonight when he gets home, “just calling to check what time you’re coming home? Can’t wait to see you.”

“Oh, um. I’m not going to be home tonight Lou,” Duncan says, lowering his voice to a whisper, “the boss wants me to stay an extra day. I’m sorry.”

Louis’ throat feels tight and his heart pangs. He feels so cold and lonely sleeping alone in their king sized bed. He’s truly lost without a kiss goodbye in the mornings.

“It’s okay,” he says but his voice sounds thick, “I’m just chilling out at home anyway.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow babe. I love you.” Duncan says, his voice rather soft and gentle, making Louis long for him even more and reminding him just why he ignores everybody who tries to tell him Duncan’s no good.

“I love you too,” Louis murmurs.

“I gotta go Lou but be good for me.”

“I will. I love you,” Louis repeats, feeling disheartened.

“Yeah I know, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

Louis is about to respond but Duncan’s already hung up. So he rests his head against the couch, letting his phone slide down into his lap as tears melt down his face. It’s not a big deal. He shouldn’t be crying about this. Duncan has to work, there’s no shame in that. There’s nothing to feel so hurt over. Only, it’s just that in the past year, Duncan’s spent more weekends working than usual and Louis has spent the entirety of that time missing him and wondering why it’s always him that has to call. He wonders why Duncan looks so much more relaxed every time he returns while Louis feels more tense and unhappy than ever. He knows it’s irrational but he lets the sadness bleed out of him anyway because fuck it, no one’s here to see him and here on his lonesome, he can admit that even if it shouldn’t, even if he has to pretend it doesn’t, the way Duncan gets by so fine without him physically pains him.

……

“Thanks so much for doing a rush order for me. My meeting is not until tomorrow but I need to go over them with the guy featured first.”

Pete hands him the manila envelope containing the file with a relaxed grin on his face. Harry guesses this is why everyone calls him “laidback Pete.”

“No problem. That guy um…”

“What about him?” Harry says, wondering why there’s suddenly a scarily protective note colouring his tone.

Pete looks only slightly awkward as he taps his boot against the ground and tugs on his belt loops to pull his jeans up.

“Is he single?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Of course Pete is interested in Louis. Harry can only guess which set of images piqued his interest.

“No,” Harry growls.

Pete steps away from Harry and behind the counter of his shop with another slack grin stretching across his face.

“Okay Haz…no need to get stroppy. I wasn’t aware you were dating again. I mean, you knocked me back enough times for me to get the point.”

“I’m not dating again.”

Pete throws his head back a little as he laughs.

“Oh. Okay. I get it.”

“Get what?!” Harry demands.

“He’s got a boyfriend but you’re a smitten kitten anyway. Understandably.”

Pete’s smile is smug and Harry’s blood is pumping twice as hard.

“I am not. He’s my neighbour, maybe a friend…that’s all.”

“Okay mate,” Pete nods his head but he’s still smirking, “whatever you say.”

Harry doesn’t bother to respond, just turns and storms out the shop, the yellow folder containing Louis’ pictures tucked under his arm as he marches down the sidewalk with angry energy powering his long strides. He’s not interested in Louis. He’s _not_. Louis Tomlinson is exactly the kind of guy he’d be more than content to roll around in the sheets with but Harry thinks he’s much like one of those sinfully delicious desserts that they serve at fancy restaurants.

They’re always called things like “death by chocolate” and they always look so impressive and irresistible that you find yourself falling for it, thinking; “death by chocolate, puh-lease… how could anything that tastes this good kill you?” An hour later, you find yourself lounging on the couch at home, popping the button on your jeans and sinking so far into the furniture that you’re convinced you’ll never rise again. Nor do you want to. In that moment, you understand the moniker, ‘death by chocolate’ and swear you’ll never touch a sickly sweet dessert again. Of course you end up ordering it next time you go there anyway. Well Harry is not going to be naïve about this. Louis might be a lot like rich, velvety chocolate cake melting in your mouth, in fact probably much better but Harry is not going to find out. He refuses to let himself feel even the desire to find out.

…..

A whole bottle of wine consumed and Harry still doesn’t feel soothed. He meant to take the pictures over to Louis’ hours ago but instead he’s been sitting here, staring at them spread over his dining table and groaning as he consumes drink after drink. Harry is not the type to get drunk…alone….on a Monday afternoon but then he’s also not used to photographing such raw sex appeal squeezed into tight leather. Not to mention being confronted with the unfairly arousing finished product.

Although it’s not the after shots that have caused him the most pain. It’s the candids that he hadn’t given much thought to after he’d taken them. It’s Louis’ head lolling back against his shoulders slightly as he laughs, his eyelashes gently brushing his cheeks that curve up like peaches, a slight blush at the apexes of each. It’s his blue eyes twinkling with humour and enjoyment as he engaged with Harry, sometimes softening with what just might be concern. It’s that smile that paints his lips, the corners fluttering up while the middle section of his mouth stays stationery. It’s a flash of white teeth and his fringe all soft looking and slightly fuzzy, covering his eyes slightly when he looks down. Harry’s own personal ‘death by chocolate’ is spread all across the dining room table and all Harry can do is moan, drink himself stupid and then leave whiny messages on his friend’s answering machines.

“Niallerrrrrr! Niall. Niall James Horan, why eren’t you responding to meh?....Oh, cause it’s a message.” Harry giggles for what feels like a lifetime but might only be a minute. “Sorry Niallerrr. I’m just calling cause I got em photos back erf Lou. He’s like…he’s like chocolate cake Ni and I’m gonna gobble him all up. Gobble gobble. Do I sound like a chicken? Or is that turkeys? Niallerrrr, I’m in lurve with his bum. And his face. I want to kiss him all over his face,” Harry brings the mouthpiece to his lips and makes kissey noises down the line. “I’d kiss you too Niallerr but NO tongues.”

Harry giggles once more and then ends the call. Then he picks up the whiteboard marker from the table and starts labelling the laminated pictures with absurd things, giggling uncontrollably as he slurps the last of his wine from his glass. When his head starts to feel real fuzzy, he drops it to the table and lets his heavy eyes fall closed.

……

Harry awakens to an aggressive knock sounding at the door. He stumbles tiredly over to it, feeling a lot more sober and groaning slightly as he vaguely remembers calling Niall and leaving a weird message on his machine. His purple shirt is rumpled and crinkled all over and he has the sudden desire to shed his jeans. The button must have been pressing hard into his stomach while he slept, bent over the table as he was. He wrenches open the door, squinting as the light from the hall floods his flat, temporarily blinding his sensitive eyes.

“Hello,” Harry says, shielding his eyes, unable to see the person standing there.

“Jeez Harold, I just came over to ask about the pictures…now I know why it took you so damn long to answer. You’re a mess. Afternoon nap?” Louis guesses.

Harry lets his hand fall away so he can get a clear look at Louis who’s rather dressed down in a comfortable looking dark jumper and faded jeans. He looks so foldable and small, his hair slightly messier than usual. Then Harry notes the slight pinkish colour around the whites of his eyes. He’s been crying again.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, ignoring Louis’ own question.

“Fine,” Louis says too quickly and Harry can see he’s trying too hard to be casual. Then his teeth break his lips, “I’m okay….but are you?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?”

Louis covers his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper but his adorable giggle is only slightly muffled.

“You might want to go look at yourself in the mirror Haz.”

Harry’s still super confused but he follows Louis’ suggestion and walks back through the living room, to the kitchen and then into the bathroom. When he lifts his head to inspect his reflection, he moans loudly. There, printed on his forehead, in black whiteboard marker are the words “sexy beast.”

Thank god, there’s no indication that Harry was referencing Louis that way. Harry’s not entirely sure it’s any better that Louis might just think that it’s how he refers to himself. He raises his palms to his face and screams into his hands until he feels a small hand, clothed in the softness of a thick jumper, come to rest across his shoulder. He releases his face and spies Louis standing behind him in the mirror, amusement in the set of his features. It only makes Harry smile because it’s obvious Louis’ not had the best day.

“It’s okay hipster,” Louis teases, “you got a face washer?”

Harry ducks down to his bathroom cabinet and grabs a dark green face washer, popping back up and covering the cloth with water from the tap. Louis turns the tap off for him and takes it from his hands.

“You don’t have to-“

“Just lean back against the sink for me love.”

Louis doesn’t seem to notice his suddenly nurturing tone and his casual endearment but Harry sure does. It might not be the first time Louis’ said it but Harry still has to bite down on a smile as he leans back against the sink. Perhaps because it’s the _way_ he says it. Like even though he’s clearly been upset, probably by Duncan and is feeling weighed down by sadness, he still wants to be the one taking care of others and attending to their needs. He’s incredible. Harry says so.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs as Louis brings the face washer up to his face and begins to gently wipe away the script.

Louis shakes his head at Harry’s compliment, his lips pursing slightly, more and more lines appearing upon his tightly sewn mouth as he tries to fight a smile.

“Why such idiocy Harold?”

“You’re obviously upset and-“

“I’m not upset,” Louis protests, his eyes flying to Harry’s in panic.

Harry touches his wrist and flashes him what he hopes is a compassionate but not intrusive look.

“I can tell something’s upset you. You don’t have to tell me. It’s fine.”

Louis pulls the face washer away with a sigh and Harry twists to look in the mirror, finding a faint black smudge but no writing. Louis rests against the bench next to Harry and looks up at him with a smile that won’t stay put. His mouth keeps dropping down, unable to portray an emotion he doesn’t really feel.

“Duncan has to work one more day. He won’t be home until tomorrow. It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t even be upset. It’s just that it’s become a lot more common, these trips away and I just miss him, you know? The bed feels too cold even when I pile blankets on and the flat is so empty and I just…even when it’s hard, even when he-even when I screw up, I still would rather be with him….”

Louis’ voice trails off and he’s chewing on the edge of his sleeve, looking down at the bathroom floor with the wrong kind of creases all over his face. Harry hates it.

“Come with me,” he says quietly.

Louis doesn’t respond but when Harry grabs his hand and rubs a thumb across his palm, a whisper of a smile bends his mouth and he lets Harry lead him out to the dining room.

“You want to know why I had sexy beast written across my forehead?”

Louis nods eagerly, biting his sleeve again. He looks like a little kid who’s just been asked if they’d like to watch a Disney movie after a nasty fall. So cautiously hopeful and still so subdued and sad that Harry’s heart near tears in two. Adorable just isn’t enough to describe the look on Louis’ face.

“Well…I got your pictures,” Harry blushes slightly and his heart races. He can’t believe he’s about to own up to this but he finds he’ll do just about anything to see Louis’ eyes light up again. “I must have…lost track of how much I was drinking. I became slightly intoxicated and I-I labelled them with some slightly obscene things. Here.”

Harry gestures toward the table and Louis leans over it, his eyes running across the messy, drunken scrawl spread across the pictures with a certain amount of fascination. It only takes a few moments but when he looks up at Harry, Harry’s heart convulses. He put his heartbreakingly sad neighbour back together. Louis doubles over laughing, repeating some of the phrases to himself as he slaps his thigh. Harry’s own mouth curls up into a wide grin and the blush fades purely because he enjoys the sight of Louis laughing. Louis finally relents and when he does, Harry grabs his hand and pulls him close, wrapping him in a hug and rocking them from side to side.

“Um,” Louis mumbles against his shirt.

“It’s nice when you laugh,” Harry says by way of explanation, “and it’s okay. It’s okay that you miss him. You’re allowed to be hurt or feel like he’s not making enough time for you.”

Harry feels Louis’ lips trying to move against his chest which is an interesting sensation to say the least but Harry cuts off his protests.

“No, Lou. Don’t fight me on that. I’m not asking you to say it but if you feel it, that’s okay. Your feelings aren’t wrong. They can’t be wrong. Okay?”

Harry pulls back to look at Louis who looks rather muddled. His jumper clothed hand is suddenly curving around Harry’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

Harry smiles and tries to ignore the voice that tells him he likes this more than he should. He tries to ignore the flutter in his chest at Louis’ gentle touch.

“You’re welcome.”

They pull away from each other and Louis goes back to inspecting the pictures but Harry can see him looking at himself now, rather than the labels. He’s drawn to the candids just as Harry was, running his fingers across them with a special kind of awe making his eyes glow.

“I can’t believe-“

“How wonderful you look?” Harry fills in for him.

Louis’ expression is wry as he corrects Harry.

“How wonderful you are at photography.”

Harry snorts.

“A photographer is only ever as good as his subject.”

Louis snorts back at him, stepping into his space only to press his hands up against Harry’s stomach and push.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Harry maintains, “I once had the worst session of my life with this one particularly troublesome subject. I mean he was a _real_ diva. Wouldn’t stop moving, kept asking to break for food. He even bit me.”

“You’re talking about your cockroach again aren’t you?” Louis asks dryly.

Harry grins, unashamed.

“He’s a pretty big cockroach. I don’t think bug spray would do the job,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the living area where Hugh Grant lies curled up on the couch.

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry’s terrible sense of humour.

“I think you should come out,” Harry says suddenly, rubbing his hands together as he crafts a plan in his head.

He doesn’t usually go out on a Monday night but he and Louis are both freelance artists in a sense so they’re not bound to strict working schedules. Louis had said he only got the chance to go out when Duncan was away and while Louis’ smiling now, Harry can’t bear the thought that he might be waiting until he’s alone to cry again.

“Come out?” Louis looks at him like he’s crazy, “on a Monday? Why?”

“Because you could use it and I think it would be fun. C’mon I want to see you dancing, dancing queen,” Harry says with an exaggerated wink.

Louis shakes his head but there’s a flash of white teeth as he grins.

“Fine,” He sighs and Harry claps his hands together excitedly, “but if I can convince her, Taylor is coming with.”

Harry nods his agreement.

“I just need to um,” Harry gestures at his rumpled shirt, “get changed…obviously. You probably want to do so also.”

Louis nods and they part ways to go get ready.

…...

“He’s watching you,” Taylor whispers in Louis’ ear as he clutches her hands, swinging his hips from side to side.

Louis looks back at the bar and finds Harry leaning across it to chat with the bartender, an incandescent smile on his face, his necklaces swinging back and forth as he tilts his head, a playful quality to his expression. There’s no head scarf containing his luscious looking curls tonight and his transparent black shirt is open at the neck exposing his tattoo. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if the obviously gay bartender wanted to go home with him. Louis’ insides scrunch a little at the thought but he’s not too worried. He has had quite a few drinks after all. It’s probably that.

“He’s not,” Louis gestures at Harry whose smile notches higher as the bartender slides the girlish looking cocktail his way, “he’s flirting with the bartender.”

“Now he is,” Taylor says, squeezing his hands to get him to look at her, “but he was staring at you just a minute ago. I really think he’s into you.”

Louis shakes off the crazy thought.

“No he’s not. He doesn’t really know me and besides, he knows I have a boyfriend.”

Taylor shrugs, her aqua crop top rising up her stomach.

“I’m just saying. His eyes stuck to your bum like glue when we got out of the taxi.”

“Well…I have a rather nice behind,” Louis smirks, his arrogance returning in spades as alcohol flows through his veins and the music runs through his system, “can’t blame the guy for noticing, can you?”

Taylor laughs and bends her knees a little, twisting her feet as she shakes her hips.

“If Duncan could see you now.”

The mention of Duncan sobers Louis a little, in more ways than one and he gulps as he thinks of how much shit he’d be in if Duncan found out. However then his eyes find Harry’s who’s ignoring the bartender trying to chat him up in favour of watching Taylor and Louis dance. In that moment, Louis can’t find the will to care about the consequences.

…....

Louis throws the contents of his wallet to the taxi driver who grumbles at him as he collects the notes from the dashboard.

“Lou,” Harry scolds him, “that’s more than it costs.”

Louis just shrugs, a lazy smile marking his face. He’s pleasantly intoxicated. Still in control of all his extremities but with enough of a buzz that his empty apartment no longer bothers him and Harry’s bouncy curls make his smile spread wider across his face. He scoots across the seat and opens the door, stumbling slightly as he gets out. Harry is there instantly, curling an arm around his waist and half carrying him to the door of their building as Louis looks up at him with a manic grin.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Harry asks him, his mouth near touching his ears.

“Because you’re curly,” Louis sings as they mount the staircase, “and I like curly people.”

Harry chuckles at this and Louis enjoys the sound. He turns around and pushes Harry up against the wall. Harry’s eyes are caught wide and staring, his laugh dying in his throat as Louis pushes his curls away from his face.

“Curly,” he sighs and then grabs Harry’s hand, dragging him up the stairs.

“You are drunk, aren’t you?” Harry says with an awkward laugh.

“Tipsy,” Louis corrects, “tipsy like a gypsy.”

By the time they make it to their floor, Harry is half carrying Louis again and Louis’ eyes feel like they might be closed. He hears the creak of a door and suddenly he’s being pulled roughly into someone’s body.

“What the fuck did you do to him? Drug him?”

Louis’ eyes fly open and he’s in Duncan’s arms, outside his flat. Duncan’s nostrils are flaring and his arm is squeezing Louis’ stomach too tight as he yells at Harry over his head. Harry. Oh god Harry, Louis thinks. Harry had his arm around him and Duncan had seen. Duncan knows he went out with Harry and he doesn’t even know Taylor was there. Oh god, no. Louis feels his breath quicken and the alcohol flee to some distant corner of his body as soberness returns.

“Of course I didn’t drug him,” Harry says, sounding wearied.

His eyes are on Louis’ face, assessing and he looks so concerned, his eyes filled with so much remorse that Louis feels a compulsion to touch him. To soothe. He ignores it. He’s not going to do anything to antagonise Duncan when he’s in this state.

“He didn’t,” Louis says, reaching up to touch Duncan’s cheek which quivers with rage, “…I just had a bit to drink. Taylor came.”

Duncan looks down at him now and Louis can see that he’s far worse off than Harry. Duncan might feel suspicion and distrust for Harry but there’s genuine abhorrence in his eyes when he looks at Louis. A dangerous, dark rage that makes Louis’ bottom lip tremble slightly and his eyes prickle.

“You should go mate,” Duncan hisses at Harry, “before I fucking show you what happens to people who touch my boyfriend without my permission.”

Harry doesn’t move, his eyes on Louis’ face. His mouth is dragging so low, it looks like it’s about to drip off his face while his green eyes are coloured with such unhappiness it makes Louis ache. Louis feels for him but he tells himself he can’t worry about his friend right now. He’s got a furious boyfriend to deal with and that’s all he can take right now.

“Go,” Duncan says and Louis can hear him clenching his teeth together, “go now.”

Harry opens his mouth but then glimpsing the look in both Duncan and Louis’ eyes, he rapidly shuts it and enters his flat. Louis feels both a rolling wave of relief and fear now that he’s alone with Duncan.  Duncan wraps a hand around his bicep and drags him into their flat, squeezing so hard that Louis’ almost definite that he’s completely cut off the blood flow. When he lets go, pushing Louis slightly, Louis rubs at the sore spot before turning to face him.

“I’m s-“

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” Duncan roars, stabbing his finger in Louis’ direction.

“But-“

“I go away for the weekend to work. To make money for our future and this is what you’re doing? Going out dancing with our neighbour. Probably rubbing up against him like a filthy slut, weren’t you?”

“No,” Louis rasps, “I didn’t dance with him. He was at the bar most of the night. It was just me and Taylor. Baby please.”

“Don’t you dare beg,” Duncan hisses, “don’t beg for my forgiveness. Probably spent your night begging him to suck your cock, didn’t you? You disgust me. I came home early to see you. I drive home in the dark just so you can have me here like you wanted and of course, you’re out getting drunk with another man like the fucking leech of a boyfriend you are. Do we have to move again? Did you fuck this up again? We’ve not been here two weeks yet and you’re already scoping out fresh cock.”

“Baby no,” Louis whines, stepping close to Duncan and reaching up to touch his face, “you know I’ve never-“

Duncan knocks his hand away, a sneer twisting his features, his green eyes cold and brittle as ice. One second away from shattering completely.

“Not yet,” he snarls, “but it’s just a matter of time, isn’t it? You’re just desperate for it.”

The words lodge themselves in Louis’ heart and his head feels woollen as he focuses on not crying.

“How can I trust you? Knowing _he’s_ next door just waiting for you to come sit on his cock as soon as I leave. We’ll have to move. Again.”

Louis can scarcely breathe and there’s true panic accelerating around his body. He doesn’t want to move again. He likes this flat. He just wants things to be okay. The words rip from his throat like they belong to somebody else.

“He’s not gay!”

Duncan’s expression only tightens.

“How do you know?”

“He has a girlfriend,” Louis says desperately, “he’s-he’s completely straight. I swear. Baby, I’d never have gone out with him otherwise. I promise.”

Duncan’s breath is still coming quick and fast but his fists unclench and his shoulders roll back slightly.

“I’m still angry at you,” he spits, “and if I see you with him again… I don’t care if he’s with some girl. I don’t like him, I don’t trust him and if you ever talk to him again…if you so much as look his way, I swear to god Louis, you’ll never look at another man again. You won’t be able to get it up for anyone but me when I’m done with you.”

“I won’t see him again, I promise,” Louis whispers, clutching Duncan’s face, his eyes tearing up, “I don’t want anyone else. I love you.”

Duncan pulls his hand away and then turns around and marches over to the couch, planting himself in the corner and reaching forward to pick up the remote.

“You can go to bed now. We’re done,” he says with cold displacement, his eyes glued to the TV as Louis stands in the centre of the flat, hurt flaring in his chest.

He doesn’t protest. He’s used to it. It still burns every single time… but he’s used to it. He drags himself to their bedroom and sheds his clothes, holding in his sobs knowing that if Duncan hears him, he’ll get angry at him for being so weak. Once he’s curled in the doona, one shaky, quiet sob breaks through and he trembles, the whole night flashing through his head like the worst kind of nightmare.

Hours later, Louis’ still not slept a wink, just waiting for Duncan to come in and finish with him. When he hears the heavy footsteps he quivers, knowing what’s about to unfold. He hears Duncan’s soft clothes fall to the floor and then his heavy body lands on the bed. He doesn’t turn Louis to face him nor speak to him at first and Louis knows just how it goes. Duncan’s arm comes around him and a hand drifts between his legs, fisting Louis’ cock until his breath starts to hitch and the head of his dick starts to drip pre come. Then, Duncan pulls on the shortest, most sensitive hairs at the base of his neck, tilting his head back and making pain shoot through his whole system. Louis tenses when Duncan whispers in his ear.

“You’re a fucking slut and I’m going to use you like one. You’re all worked up, aren’t you? But you don’t get to come. Not tonight.”

Duncan lifts him slightly off the bed, holding tight to his hip with a bruising grip, his tip brushing Louis’ hole. Louis cringes as he waits for it, his whole body taut with tension and then he gasps as Duncan thrusts his cock in deep, pushing past Louis’ tightness with no prep, no lubricant and certainly no tenderness. No, this is not making love. This is Louis’ punishment. Duncan pulls back only slightly before rocking into Louis again, Louis’ whole body shuddering at the force being applied to his rim. He brings his hand to his mouth, biting down hard to keep from screaming. He’s made noise enough times to know that it only makes things worse.

“How does that feel?” Duncan pants in his ear, pausing to bite down hard on Louis’ shoulder, “You’re so tight. Bet it fucking hurts. You love my cock fucking you deep, don’t you? Tell me you love it.”

Louis releases his hand.

“I love it,” he chokes out, “I love you fucking me deep.”

Duncan grunts in his ear as he continues to fuck him roughly, his fingers digging into Louis’ hip deeply. In any other situation, maybe it would be a turn on but not like this. Not when he’s being ripped open from the inside out. Tears roll down his face as he swallows down each sob and they form a kind of bubble in his throat. He feels so worthless and weak. How can he be in love with someone who makes him feel like this? Someone who seems to get such a thrill out of it? Yet love him he does so he takes the pounding, not bothering to wipe away the tears or dry his snotty nose. He can’t give any sign of his displeasure.

Finally Duncan comes inside him with a guttural moan and he pulls his softening cock away and rolls on to his side and away from Louis without a word. His snores quickly fill the silence and Louis’ only relieved that it’s over. He’s not even bothered that he doesn’t get to come because his cock has gone completely soft.

He quietly slips out of bed and grabs a soft jumper and some pyjama bottoms. Once dressed, he slides back into bed and uses his sleeve to wipe away the last of the tears and his snot. He opens his top drawer and reaches for the salve but then thinks better of it. This time he feels too raw to even touch himself down there. Maybe he’ll apply some tomorrow after his shower.

A few more tears roll down his face, marring his vision as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. They drip down onto the screen, obscuring his view but he assumes it makes enough sense. There’s a new pain in his chest now but there’s nothing he can do about it. He drops his phone back to the bedside table and curls himself up in a ball, closing his eyes and trying to remember what Harry said to him about his feelings not being wrong. Somehow it doesn’t seem to make as much sense after what he’s just been through. He’s only been rightfully punished for betraying the man he loves.

…..

Harry’s been pacing for the last few hours, ever since he made the stupid mistake of walking away and leaving Louis with his lunatic of a boyfriend against his better instincts. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t wanted to at all. The way those cruel green eyes flared at him was reason enough but when Duncan looked at Louis, there was something truly dangerous working over his expression. Only Louis’ face had pleaded with him, those vulnerable blue eyes just begging him to do as he asked. So Harry had turned and left him in the arms of a man who looked crazed with irrational anger.

He’s known Louis a few days. A few days only. Already he feels like it’s been much longer. Already he feels like Louis’ wellbeing is inexplicably tied to his own. He’d tried to flirt with the bartender tonight and leave Louis be. Taking him out wasn’t supposed to be about checking him out. He’d just wanted to show Louis a good time and see his face light up with genuine joy. He’d wanted to make him forget that his tosser of a boyfriend wouldn’t be home for another day and how hurt it made him feel. Yet he hadn’t been able to keep up the sham because Louis had been shaking his hips all over the place, his bum the worst kind temptation Harry had ever faced. If he didn’t know better, he’d think those jeans were custom made. Either that or the impeccable fit was down to a designer who specialised in bubble butt denim. Louis looked so beautiful when he laughed, his Adam’s apple bulging as his whole face scrunched up and his eyes filled with that luminescent, sparkly kind of happiness that made Harry feel sea sick. The ocean was really just Louis’ expressive blue eyes. Harry hadn’t been able to resist watching him. He’d tried to tell himself it was okay but then they got back here and everything blew up and now Harry has been pacing for hours, stopping to rest against the couch every now and then, biting his nails nervously.

It’s his fault. It’s all his fault that Louis’ suffering. He heard the slightly muffled roaring noise that Duncan makes when he yells but it died quickly and now there’s only silence. An awful, foreboding silence that fills Harry with dread. He wants to barge over there and pound on the door, demanding to know if Louis’ okay….but it’s not his place. Louis wouldn’t want that and Harry swore to himself that he wouldn’t get embroiled in Louis’ toxic relationship. Finally after what feels like the longest stretch of time Harry’s ever waited in his whole life, his phone buzzes against his hip.

Louis: **I told Duncan you have a girlfriend so please go along with it. I can’t see you or talk to you anymore but you can still use the pictures for your meeting. I hope it goes well. Thank you for everything.**

Harry’s head is pounding. He should have expected this but truly he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d expected Duncan to berate Louis, maybe even to try dissuade him from seeing Harry but he’d thought maybe Louis wouldn’t listen. He’d thought maybe they were friendly enough that Louis would still want to see him.

Then it occurs to him that maybe Duncan’s wrath is just that bad that it’s not worth risking it. The thought pains him. He knows it should weaken his cause but he can’t keep his distance. Not now that he knows Louis. If anything, it only makes him more certain that Louis needs somebody in his life who will protect him. He might have his best friends and his family but they don’t live next door and something tells Harry that he has something they might not have. Like maybe his friends and family have spent too much time trying to tell Louis what he’s doing wrong, making him feel like an idiot for being in love with Duncan and not seeing that they’re worsening the problem.

Harry feels Louis’ intense shame about the state of his relationship. Louis’ not oblivious. He’s remarkably intelligent so he has to know that it can’t be good for him but in some sense it’s a lot like death by chocolate. Louis’ drawn to something that has the potential to make him feel pleasure, something that has in the past proved enjoyable and despite the fact that it always ends in sickness, he can’t walk away. He can’t stop himself from picking up the spoon.

He’s been so deeply shamed by Duncan for being hurt and so shamed by everybody else for not leaving him that he has no real belief in himself, no self-worth. He can barely raise his head, let alone find the strength to leave. Harry doesn’t want to get himself mixed up in this situation but being a friend can’t be so bad, can it? That is, if he can stop Louis from pushing him away entirely.

Harry: _I’ll go along with it, course I will. But Lou please. We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m sorry about tonight but don’t throw in the towel yet. I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry if you’re not._

Harry waits two full hours for a response and then finally retires to his bed, his mind already dreaming up ways to get Louis to talk to him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to know what you thought. It's a bit scary writing about abuse which is such a complex issue that many people feel so deeply about but I've done my best so far to get inside of the mind of someone being abused and I hope that with this story, I can encompass some of the reality of that journey and what it's like to be subjected to that.
> 
> Would also be interested to hear whether you're a believer of Larry or just enjoy reading about them. I will not judge either way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absence but I got really lost in my uni break and then there was the whole baby drama. I was not emotionally stable haha  
> Anyway, hopefully you enjoy this and let me know :)

“You’d kiss me too but no tongues?” Niall asks as he lounges on Harry’s couch, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh shut up,” Harry grumbles, rearranging his camera supplies to fit into his bag.

Niall is smirking now but he doesn’t say anything as Harry stares determinedly down at his bag on the dining table and fights the blush blooming across his cheeks. A soft hand curls over his shoulder and he jumps slightly but then Zayn appears beside him, nudging a steaming mug of tea against his hand.

“I don’t have time. I’m going to be late to this party.”

“It’s not _your_ party.”

“Even worse. It’s a party that I’m being paid to take pictures at. If I’m not there to take the pictures, I’m not going to get paid, now am I?”

“It’s not as if you need their money,” Zayn says with a roll of his dark eyes.

Harry’s eyes narrow and he scales Zayn’s t-shirt and jeans with suspicion.

“Didn’t you say you had a shoot today?”

“He’s not going,” Niall calls out, not bothering to look up from the sports section of the paper that he’s now currently perusing.

Harry raises his eyebrows at Zayn who suddenly looks agitated.

“That’s not like you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Zayn shakes his head. Then he bites his lip and Harry can feel the words about to spring forth, “….Liam said he’d come with me to the travel agent today.”

Harry’s eyes bug out and Zayn’s own widen with panic.

“Just to look. I haven’t decided anything. Please don’t say anything…don’t mention it to your parents.”

Harry’s smile is soft as he pats Zayn’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Zayn, I wouldn’t tell my parents if you moved halfway across the planet to like…Australia or something. Don’t stress…but are you really thinking of traveling? I wasn’t sure how much money you’d been able to save…”

“I’ve saved enough,” Zayn says defensively but he looks unsure as he shakes his gelled fringe so a strand falls loosely across his eyes, “it’s not money that’s the problem.”

“It’s his parents. Snob one and snob two,” Niall pipes up again, a quirk in his mouth as he continues to pretend to read.

“I told you not to call them that,” Zayn snaps.

Niall just chuckles at the way Zayn bats his hair away from his nose where it must be tickling him.

With Zayn and Niall, the problem has always been that they come from such vastly different backgrounds. Zayn grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and Niall grew up with well, a plastic spoon in his mouth, which he used to catapult mountains of food onto his parents’ walls. Although that being said, Niall has informed him that the catapult was more of a protest than anything. He ate a hell of a lot of the food given to him and then some but when the ‘then some’ wasn’t on offer, his dinner had a habit of ending up splattered across the walls. Then he’d get even grumpier because he had even less food to satisfy him.  

Still, that was about as rebellious as Niall had ever been or needed to be. Niall the bad boy? Niall the church boy, more like. His parents barely restricted his comings and goings and though the concept of trust and unconditional support between a child and their parents is foreign to Harry, he understands it. Or at least he understands that it’s got a lot to do with Niall’s laidback, happy go lucky personality.

Harry admires Niall’s ability to be completely honest with himself about what he wants from life and to go about attaining it in his own Niall-esque way. He has always wanted to sell out stadiums and have his own headlining tour and he decided to skip uni and start busking, learning his craft from other street musicians and playing in bars every weekend to rouse up interest. He’s always said that when he earns enough to keep his own flat, he’ll finally try out for x factor.

 It’s slow going and the kid spends his time crashing at other people’s places every night but not one of them minds because Niall is always happy to spare what money he can, offer his Jamie Oliver inspired cooking experience and basically just keep the mood of the household up. Niall wouldn’t give up back when he barely had two pennies to rub together and he still hasn’t. Harry’s convinced he’ll keep at it until he makes it and truly, Harry’s proud to know someone like that. Someone who can associate with people like himself and Zayn and not see it as his ticket to a better life nor be bitter with envy.

Harry thinks that might be why Zayn finds it so hard to be on his level. He’s never understood people who don’t crave materialistic pleasure. It’s hard to blame him really, having grown up the way he did. He was taught the opposite of what Niall had been. He was taught that your inner needs didn’t matter and that if something didn’t earn you the dime you needed, it wasn’t worth it.

Zayn rebelled in his own way, chasing a career in modelling when his parents, particularly his father, had begged him to reconsider but he’d never strayed too far from the vision they wanted for him. He’d been discrete with his sexuality in public and had only ever taken girlfriends to meet them. He’d paved a way for himself in his career and had featured in enough national campaigns that his parents could still pull the, “look how well our Zayn’s done for himself…” card, despite Zayn not heeding their initial career advice. He’d ignored his true desire to see the world and to experience all it had to offer beyond the limits of dreary, old London.

Zayn’s biggest problem with Niall is that he’s so much of what Zayn would like to be and so much of what he feels he can’t. Harry suspects that more and more, Zayn’s finding himself unsatisfied with his life. He’ll never really rid himself of that hint of vanity or his reverence for the customs of the world they grew up in. Yet there’s an inner conflict in his eyes and Harry can sense it flaring up now in response to Niall’s blatant challenge and his ability to joke about what must feel to Zayn like the worst kind of inner turmoil.

“Hey,” Harry says gently, bowing his head slightly to catch Zayn’s eye, “I think it’s great that you’re looking into it and I think…I think you should do what makes you happy, regardless of what snob-“Zayn’s expression turns murderous. Niall cackles as Harry regrets his faux pas, “I mean…your parents, think.”

Zayn’s expression is unreadable as he chews on the side of his mouth, lifting the mug in front of him and taking a sip of the tea Harry’s not going to drink. Watching Zayn drink tea always makes Harry smile. When he wraps his hands around the mug, interlocking his fingers as the warm, amber liquid hits his tongue, he looks ever the contented, dark haired prince. The bitterness in his expression clears completely and when he finishes, he always lets out this tiny, relieved ‘ah’ nose and nods his approval despite the fact that he’s usually the one who’s made the tea.

It’s entirely too endearing and it reminds Harry of when they were little and they’d sneak two mugs of tea into Zayn’s parents’ room and hide in his mum’s walk in wardrobe  behind her dresses. It was the only place Zayn’s dictator-like au pair wouldn’t find them and they’d sit there for hours, giggling as she called their names and ran up and the down stairs, shouting threats and getting increasingly frustrated.

 She’d never located their hiding spot and they’d never shared it with anybody. Zayn had hid there after he told his dad he was gay and had called Harry in tears from that very wardrobe. Zayn’s father hadn’t spoken to him for a month and when he finally did, all he’d said was, “you’re not to embarrass us with this. Don’t taint this family with _that._ ” After that, Harry had still hid with his best friend, just not in the way they were used to. They’d had to hide who they really were to fit in to the world they came from. There was no more giggling or tea parties in Zayn’s mum’s wardrobe.

“So Liam…” Harry says, trying to change the subject.

“What about him?”

“He’s taking you to the travel agent?” Harry asks, eyeing Zayn carefully, “have you two even been out on a date yet?”

“Yes.”

Zayn glowers at Niall.

“If you’d stop interjecting-“

“You took him out?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry demands, “Why didn’t Louis tell me?”

“Louis didn’t know,” Zayn sighs. “Liam and Louis barely text cause of Duncan and Louis hasn’t been to the gym since before Liam and I were introduced. It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Li just said that he’d come with me so I wouldn’t back out. Moral support.”

“Not a big deal?! My best friend went on a date with a super fit guy? Big deal. A super fit guy who also happens to be Louis’ best friend and seemed terminally shy when I met him? Big deal. You’re going on _another_ date with him? Big d-“

“Actually it’s kind of our third-“

“You’ve been on two dates already. Jesus Christ. I tell you everything,” Harry whines.

“Yeah too much,” Zayn says with a grimace, “there is such a thing as too much sharing between best friends Haz. You’d like to lick the eyeliner off his skin? That’s just fucking gross.”

Harry groans morosely and Niall chuckles.

“Yep H, you left Zayn a similarly special message detailing the many ways you’d like to ruin Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry’s eyes crease beneath his hands. His fingers slide away as an apple sized lump bobs up and down in his throat.

“That’s the thing,” he says quietly, his voice so paper thin that Niall looks genuinely alarmed, “I’m not the one ruining him…am I?”

…….

“Louis, you haven’t done a sit up in ten minutes. Get your arse off the floor.”

“I thought my arse was supposed to _stay_ on the floor.”

“ _Louis.”_

“I’m taking a breather,” Louis placates, tapping away at his phone with sweaty fingers.

“You’re texting your prat boyfriend,” Liam accuses, a knowing look in his disapproving brown eyes.

Louis flips him the bird and pushes his damp fringe back out of his eyes.

“As if your thigh’s not currently buzzing with a text from _your_ new boyfriend,” Louis challenges, lifting his head just enough to arch his eyebrows at Liam whose innocent brown eyes do not fool Louis.

“He’s not my-we’re not-you’re a fucking arse. I’m just…I’m meant to take him to the travel agent and he said he’d let me know what time to pick him up from H-“Liam cuts off and then stares determinedly at Louis’ knees.

Louis chucks his phone onto the blue mat and then wrenches himself up, his abdominals burning as he lifts himself up to his knees until he’s eye to eye with Liam.

“Lima,” Louis scolds, caressing Liam’s wrist who snarls at the wretched nickname, “You can say his name. It’s not a dirty word. You’re picking him up from Harry’s. For your third date. I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam holds Louis’ feet down as he completes another painful sit up, “who knows. I’ll probably screw it up. It’s like…it’s like he thinks I’m this knowledgeable-shut your mouth you twat-lad who like, can show him the way. He wants me to you know, help him get his own life. Break free of his parents and all that but Lou, I’m just, I’m-I’m not like a role model or anything.”

Louis hangs his arms over his bent knees and tilts his head just so. The arch of his eyebrow along with the reproach in his sharp, blue eyes is enough to convey his thoughts on the matter.

“Liam James Payne, stop acting like an insufferable git. If he wants your advice, there’s a reason. God knows what it is-“Liam smacks him across the side of the head and Louis squirts him with his water bottle, “ _but,”_ he says meaningfully, “He must see in you something he aspires to be. Sure, you have a weirdly intense fear of an inanimate object, a utensil for crying out loud, like what is the deal with that? Afraid someone’s going to spoon you to death or is it just the sight of your reflection. Because you know that great big shiny thing called a mirror-ouch, okay, okay, not the point, I know. Look yes you have a few chinks in your armour Lima but that doesn’t mean you’re not worth it or that someone shouldn’t look up to you. You’re a better role model than you’d think.”

Liam pinches his cheek hard, a smug grin curving his lips.

“Awweh, Lewis. Did you just tell me you look up to me?” He coos.

Louis slaps his hand away.

“Ass wipe.”

“Dipshit.”

“Hobbledehoy.”

“What the fuck is a hobbledehoy?”

Louis’ teeth break his lips.

“An awkward, gawky young man.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Love you too Lima.”

Liam hauls Louis to his feet and looks him over with concern. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re not fine. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Liam asks, with a half frown.

“We already talked. I told you, it’s all good now. I dealt with it.”

Liam rolls his eyes this time.

“No, _you_ talked about it. You wouldn’t let me say what I thought and what I think is-“

Louis holds Liam’s lips between his thumb and forefinger, pinching them closed with a superior expression.

“I don’t care to hear what you think. You can say his name, you can mention him in passing, you can fucking write him a song for all I care but I don’t want to hear your verdict on my relationship with Duncan, which is just fine thank you and certainly not my relationship with Harry styles which is simply non-existent.”

Louis only lets go when Liam’s expression loosens in defeat.

“Fine,” he agrees, “but for the record, Duncan is like….a Christmas pudding,” both Liam and Louis grimace at the thought of the dessert they so despise, “and Harry is…well he seemed…I mean I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him but… Harry is double choc fudge brownies melting in your mouth.”

Louis stares him down with his arms folded stiffly over his suddenly rumbling stomach.

“Now not only have you given your unwanted opinion but you’ve also given me quite a problem. I’m now quite in the mood for-“

“I’m not blowing you Louis,” Liam’s smile curls up into a devious smirk, “and don’t tell me you have needs.”

“Payne,” Louis says through gritted teeth as he steps closer, “remember when I gave you that super tight wedgie and you couldn’t stick anything up there for weeks?”

Liam starts backing away, his hands raised in defence.

“I’ve actually got to go now because Zayn will be waiting but ah-good session Lou,” Liam says quickly, somehow leaning in and smacking a kiss to Louis’ fringe and darting away before Louis can have any say in the manner.

Once Liam has vacated the gym premises, Louis scouts out two _massive_ double choc brownies at the adjoining café (it doesn’t mean anything thank you, he’s just craving delicious, undo-all-your-hard-work, sugary treats.) He thinks the café might be the worst idea hatched by the gym owner yet but then again, the fatter people get, the more they need to work out. Thinking about his own need to work out and how many calories are in the chocolate treat he’s currently consuming makes Louis pale.

He might slack off at the gym and treat himself to a sneaky cheeseburger on the way home from work every now and then but he usually tries not to overdose on sugar. He knows he’s got a sweet tooth and if he’s not careful, he’ll end up with that heavy figure that he used to possess. The body that Duncan couldn’t desire. Louis licks the last of the chocolate off his pinkie and then dumps the remaining brownie in the waste basket beside him with a resigned sigh. No more Harry. No more chocolatey treats. No more giving in to temptation.

……

“Can I touch it? Please. I promise my hands are clean love. Come here, come on darling. I’ll pay you if it helps.”

“Ah-“

“Or,” the long legged ginger tips her head toward her chest, “you could forget _her_ and come lay your head right here. I’ll give you a pat.”

Harry feels like there soon might be a Harry shaped hole in the back door of the garage. It is, after all, the fastest way to exit the backyard and this house entirely. This god forsaken party that he wished he had turned down. He usually doesn’t deal with middle aged women on their own because it has a habit of coming back to bite him in the arse. Literally. A married fifty three year old woman once bit his bum as he leaned over the refreshments table at a cocktail party and said quite unapologetically, “your tush is a lot firmer than my Basil’s.” Harry supposes it was probably true. People with names like Basil don’t usually have firm arses but hey, that didn’t mean Harry was looking to replace the guy.

There’s something about Harry that drives these women crazy. Perhaps it’s the combination of a man who seems rather fashion forward and well-spoken with a liberating lifestyle that lies outside the bounds of most normal, nine to five jobs. The kinds of jobs these women’s husbands have. Something about it makes them crazy. Lewd. Verging on predatory. It seems that as soon as Harry is done taking shots of them laughing and downing too many glasses of chardonnay, they’re happy to stop thinking of him as the hired photographer. From that point on, they treat him much like a stripper or a form of live entertainment.

As a general rule, he avoids these events. Harry is not into women and certainly not middle aged women. He remembers one of the first few gigs he’d done as a photographer and Zayn had come with him for moral support. After half the women there hit on Harry, Zayn had found it amusing to casually mention to half the guests there that Harry had a thing for older women and perhaps even a fetish. How obtuse.

Harry had spent the rest of the night warding off the advances of women twice his age who kept trying to lock him in the loo with them for a quick snog. No thank you, he’d politely say while grinding his teeth together and planning his retribution for Zayn. He’d never brought Zayn on the job again and he’d avoided gatherings where these women were not accompanied by their husbands or where they had unlimited access to alcohol. It was much too effective in draining away their inhibitions. Yet Harry couldn’t be too picky because if he wanted to be truly independent, he had to score a certain amount of gigs/events per week. Thus, he’d had to say yes to this party. Now he’s half regretting his bold stab at independence.

“Ladies, I’m actually…you know, I’m here to take photos,” Harry says with an apologetic shrug, “not to have my curls petted.”

“Oh Pearl won’t mind,” says the ginger, “she might even give you a big, fat bonus, especially if you uh,” ginger smirks, “give her a big, fat bonus too.”

Her eyes fall to the large bulge in his tight jeans, her long tongue darting out to wet her ruby lips. Harry feels nauseous and is tempted to jump up on the table and announce to the whole garden party that he could think of nothing worse than getting down and dirty with anyone possessing anything but dick in their pants. “Sorry ladies,” he imagines saying, with a sorrowful look on his face, “but vagina is to me what veal is to a vegetarian.”

“You know,” Harry glances at his watch and is delighted to note the time, “I think I’ve got enough shots of you gorgeous women and I’ve actually got an important meeting to get to so I better head off. Maybe another time.”

His smile feels painfully insincere but ginger and her friend just bat their eyelashes at him, their eyes half lidded with lust, so Harry figures he isn’t as transparent as he originally thought. He makes his way down the long sloping garden, his footfalls slowing slightly as he gazes at the stunning white flowers that look like they’ve been dip dyed in a rosy pink colour. The pink colour reminds Harry of the blush upon Louis’ cheeks and his stomach dips slightly in response, butterflies mixed in with regret and longing. Finally he reaches the slim, willowy woman with sleek black hair and sharp green eyes.

“Pearl,” he greets her, lightly squeezing her elbow.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs to her counterparts in conversation and then turns toward Harry.

Unlike the other women, her interest in him is less invasive. It’s a cool flick of her eyes across his own, measuring his response to her. She’s a high profile businesswoman whose conquests are more like business deals than anything. Harry noticed it quite quickly. She won’t throw herself at him and may not even ask at all if she correctly gauges his disinterest.

“Can I help you with something Harry?”

He holds up his camera slung around his neck with a relaxed smile, feeling remarkably relieved to be away from the women who don’t so easily take no as an answer.

“Yeah, I’ve got quite a few good shots and you remember I said I couldn’t stay the whole day, right? I’ve got that meeting. I was just hoping-“

“For payment,” Pearl cuts him off and Harry is glad as he’s always hated this part.

Pearl pulls a cheque book from the pocket of her cream coloured pantsuit and rips away the first piece of paper which is already filled out. Harry briefly checks the amount and then flashes her a small, thankful smile.

“I’ll just be off then. Thank you for hiring me.”

“My pleasure Harry,” Pearl says lowly, her voice only just verging on seductive as she wraps a hand around his forearm, “are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay a little longer? Perhaps until my guests retire to their own homes for the evening? I’m sure we could find something to do to entertain ourselves.”

Her instincts aren’t as good as Harry thought. Either that, or his sexuality isn’t plain as day like he had begun to think. He’s got on a pair of dark brown chinos paired with a navy blue t-shirt and a light brown, weathered jacket with white fur around the edge of the collar that tickles his neck when he moves. He’d sourced the jacket from a used clothing store close to where he lives. He’s rolled the chinos up just enough to display a couple of his favourite anklets that he made himself and he’s got a half-moon necklace hanging round his neck, his curls restrained by a long head scarf that matches the navy of his shirt. He supposes that most people wouldn’t construe his outfit as typically “gay” but then, he’s not wearing women’s jeans today.

“I actually really need to go,” Harry says, dragging the words out as if pained by the notion, “but it was lovely meeting you.”

“You’ll have to do the photos for my next gathering,” she says, not at all flustered, her eyes dropping to his mouth for a fraction of a second.

“I’d love that.”

His voice is hoarse with desire. To escape. He bows his head in an attempt to bid her adieu but she pulls him into an unexpected hug, reaching up to scrunch a hand in his curls. God he hates it when people he hasn’t warmed to touch his curls.

“Goodbye,” he says tightly and then edges out of her grip.

It takes him all of two minutes to leg his way back up the garden, through the house and out the door. When he climbs into his car, his phone dings with a text from Zayn.

Zayn: **Louis didn’t talk about you to Liam. Much. He’s not interested in being your friend basically. Sorry H x**

Harry sighs his disappointment and sits there in his car for a moment, feeling defeated before twisting the key in the ignition and starting the car. If this meeting doesn’t go well, he might consider setting fire to his whole jewellery collection just to spite the world. Or not. The thought of giving up his ever growing array of necklaces gives him a full body shudder.

…….

“Mr Styles,” Mr Tellman says with that weird twitch of his weathered cheeks, “good to see you again.”

Their hands meet in a firm handshake and Harry slides into the chair opposite the older man’s desk, feeling his heartbeat escalate slightly with nerves.

“You too sir. I’ve brought the pictures in.”

Harry retrieves the images, scrubbed clean of his drunken labels, from his black messenger bag and splays them out across the desk.

Mr Tellman studies them silently for so long that Harry’s fingernails gravitate towards his lips and he begins to jiggle his left leg, his eyes glued to the esteemed editor’s face as he waits for the verdict.

Harry thinks Louis is beautiful of course. His every shot is beautiful, even the ones that are supposed to lack life and vigour. However Harry can’t be sure that his own angles and editing skills are up to GQ standards nor that Mr Tellman will still feel the same interest in the project as he had initially.

Harry’s surprised to find how seriously invested he is in this project. He’s determined to show even a portion of the population that beauty is most prominent when it’s not being flaunted or manipulated. He wants people to know that beauty is something that shines through from within when someone is caught unawares. It’s when happiness and intimacy get the best of someone and their face can no longer contain the emotion that moves within, it’s contained in the way it rolls across their expression in waves.

It’s subtle curves of their lips, twitches in their cheeks and flashes in their eyes. It’s this luminescence that brightens and liquefies the colours that swirl around their pupils, the genuine emotions they feel that create vibrancy and animation in their appearance. It’s a kind of brilliance that fills the lens of a camera with a raw humanity, an honesty that Harry is forever drawn to. Compelled to capture.

Harry finds himself sucking in a breath as Mr Tellman raises his eyes, his round glasses perched on his nose, his blue opal like eyes filled with a decision that Harry can’t yet decipher.

“I’d like this young man to be the front cover.”

Harry’s smile almost breaks his face as his breath stops and he finds himself triumphant in a way he fails to conceal. Miles Tellman is not only expressing his desire for Harry to do the spread but he’s impressed with Louis. He’s drawn to Louis just as Harry had been from the first. Although perhaps not quite in the same way.

Harry’s excitement dims only slightly when he realises that Louis wants nothing more to do with him and that, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Louis isn’t going to want these pictures in a magazine when Duncan could easily find out nor is he going to believe that he’s the right man for it, that he possesses enough appeal. However Harry believes enough for the both of them.

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry vows, knowing he has to first convince Louis to give him a chance as friends before he can even think about doing so.

“Good,” Mr Tellman nods decisively and gathers the images in his hands before handing them back to Harry, “because I think this could be one of our most successful shoots yet,” Harry blinks back at him, shock colouring his jade eyes, “and if you pull it off Mr Styles, your career will benefit enormously. You can do things your way,” Mr Tellman tilts his head in the direction of the pictures of Louis, “and earn plenty of money doing it.”

“Wow, I-“ Harry’s eyes feel wide with budding dreams and he finds himself flawed, unable to express his gratitude with any eloquence, “I-thank you.”

It seems that Mr Tellman isn’t as incapable of smiling as Harry thought. His cheeks do that twitch again but this time, the hint of wrinkles around his eyes scrunch together and his teeth are visible as his mouth parts.

“I will choose the men to be featured Mr Styles,” Harry starts to frown but Mr Tellman cautions him with a hand, “but no models of course. I will contact you when I wish you to photograph them and then again when I wish to publish. In the meantime, you talk to your friend,” Harry’s stomach scrunches because if he could only call Louis that, a friend, “and get him to sign a contract giving us the rights to the images.”

“Of course,” Harry nods, “thank you again sir.”

Mr Tellman’s smile makes another appearance.

“I’ll speak to you soon Mr Styles. Just leave your details at the front desk.”

Harry smiles back and then jumps up, feeling the glow of success settle over his shoulders as he makes his way down the corridor. He decides then and there that he will make use of his good fortune and winning streak while it’s still viable. He slides his phone out of his pocket and texts Zayn back.

Harry: _Never mind. I’m going to take care of it .xx_

……

No one answers the door when Harry knocks on Louis’ flat but when he decides to go out for a coffee, he walks past the laundry room of the complex and spots a chestnut fringe and a baby blue jumper that hems in at the waist. Louis. Harry doesn’t call out or open the door. Instead he quietly makes his way back to the flat and grabs a couple of armfuls of clean clothing and drops them in his washing basket. He grabs the envelope he’d filled out earlier and tucks it into the back pocket of his pants.

When he makes it back to the laundry room and quietly opens the door, Louis, the only one in there, stills completely. His baby blue eyes go wide like a startled rabbit and he looks awfully tiny as he brings his hand, swallowed up by his jumper, to his forehead and sweeps his fringe aside.

Harry literally saw him last night but it somehow feels like it’s been much longer. Louis looks just as beautiful as he had with eyeliner and leather pants. Just as beautiful as he had poised on Harry’s couch, getting lost in their conversation. Harry’s relieved to note there’s no sign of physical abuse but the fear in Louis’ eyes sobers him instantly. Whatever happened with Duncan was enough to chase away any connection they had briefly formed the past few days and replace it with hesitance and anxiety. All because Louis went out and had himself a good time.

“Hi Lou,” Harry says tentatively, holding his washing basket under his arm as he walks along the white laminate floor to the nearest washing machine.

He can feel Louis’ eyes burning a hole in the side of his head but for now, he doesn’t meet his gaze, simply loading his clothes into the washing machine with a vacant expression. Only when he’s emptied his sachet of power into the machine and switched it on, does he swivel in Louis’ direction. He finds something unexpected. Louis doesn’t look scared as much as…embarrassed. His ears are tinged in pink and he’s biting down on the sleeve of his jumper and rocking back and forth.

“Look,” Harry pleads with a tilt of his head, “I promise I won’t be long. I just need to wash my clothes. That’s okay right?”

Louis glances at his machine and then back up at Harry with that same panic that had been in his eyes before. He chews on the side of his mouth and then nods, starting forward in hopes of leaving Harry here alone. Harry snakes his arm around Louis’ waist just as Louis reaches his side. Louis starts at his touch but he tries not to take offence. When Harry looks down at him, his thin brown eyebrows are slanted low and he looks torn between annoyance and confusion.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry asks.

Louis extricates himself from Harry’s hold and turns, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the hallway.

“I’m going back to my flat. Until my wash is done.”

Harry chuckles and Louis looks more annoyed than confused now.

“Why on earth is that funny?”

Harry turns slightly and pats the lid of his machine.

“You know Lou, these things work best when you turn them on first,” he explains, his dimples lifting into place as he winks and adds, “kind of like people really.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest but nothing comes out and he stands there catching flies as Harry’s grin grows. Eventually he takes a step in his direction and presses his finger into Harry’s shoulder in what Harry supposes is supposed to be a stab. All it does is send a ripple of pleasure through Harry’s upper body.

“You’re absurd,” Louis announces.

Harry reaches up to clasp his wrist, intrigued by the way Louis’ eyelashes halt mid blink as Harry’s thumb skates down over his pulse point and glides across his palm. He pulls Louis’ hand away from his chest and returns it to its former position by his side with a quirk in his smile.

“And you were about to walk out without putting your machine on. Lucky you have me really.”

Harry’s aware he can’t keep this up. The jokes. The banter. The light hearted teasing that doesn’t really address the fact that Louis’ determined not to have anything to do with him. It’s just that being this close to Louis sends some weird rush through his veins that stops him from being able to think straight.

“I-“Louis swallows and his face heats up, “I…I-“

Harry’s smile fades and his hand is suddenly sliding over Louis’ hip and squeezing, his eyebrows drawing together with concern.

“What’s wrong? Is it Duncan?”

Harry regrets the words the moment they spill from his mouth. The shutters come down in those luminous blue eyes and Louis pushes his hand away, shaking his fringe out angrily.

“It’s not Duncan. It’s you,” Louis say venomously, “I need to-“he looks around the laundry room as if studying its contents in hopes of finding an answer, “yes, I need to go.”

Louis turns on his heel but Harry’s not ready to lose this battle yet. He yanks on Louis’ hand and as Louis wheels back around, he brings his hand up to steady him, cupping the back of his neck gently. The skin is warm and tense beneath his hand. As he squeezes slightly, Louis lets out a tiny puff of air.

“Please don’t. Tell me what it is.”

“Take your hands off me Harry,” Louis says steadily but there’s an inherent warning in his tone and Harry curses himself.

His need is showing. He removes his hands but his eyes continue to trace the face of the vulnerable looking man before him who is pink all over and who scrubs a hand over the back of his soft looking hair. When he pulls it away, that patch of hair is left all spiked up and fuzzy like a hedgehog. It’s adorable and Harry tries very hard not to give away the game but his top lip is wobbling with the effort.

“I-I don’t know how to do it,” Louis mumbles.

Harry studies his downtrodden look with confusion.

“Don’t know how to what Lou?”

Earnestness and a genuinely lost look purses those narrow lips and forms concentrated creases on his brow. It’s enough to melt the inside of Harry’s brain.

“To wash,” Louis half whimpers, clearly shamed.

Harry can’t help it. A soft chuckle slips through his defences as he regards this man-child who looked like total debauchery in his photo shoot but somehow in this moment, looks just like the kind of wounded animal you’d like to wrap in your arms. Louis crosses his arms, his expression turning rigid.

“Of course you’d laugh at me. Arrogant hipster,” Louis accuses.

Harry laughs again but then pulls on Louis’ hands to uncross his arms.

“Hey, come on,” he drawls slowly, one side of his mouth soaring high, “let me help. I just-I can’t believe you don’t know how to wash.”

Louis doesn’t pull away as Harry tugs him across the floor to his washing machine but he does rip his hands pretty swiftly from Harry’s when Harry squeezes them. By accident of course.

“Well I don’t,” Louis says defensively, “and I’ve been standing here for about twenty minutes because I don’t want to put it on if I haven’t done it right. It’s Duncan’s stuff. He usually takes care of both of our washing but I thought it would be nice if I did it for once. You know to make up for-“

“Me,” Harry finishes, tone firm.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, sounding genuinely bothered.

Harry chooses to ignore that for now. Instead he opens up the lid and looks down at the pile of clothes inside.

“Well?” Louis asks.

Harry pulls a couple of pairs of white socks and a white t-shirt from the machine and dumps them in the washing machine next to Louis’.

“You’re going to want to wash these separately,” he explains.

Louis nods his acquiescence and Harry is relieved to note that there’s no challenge in his expression.

“And um…”

Harry coughs and it barely hides his laugh.

Louis has a petulant pout pushing his lips together, his eyes flick up at Harry from beneath his lashes with annoyance. Harry batters down a fond smile in response to the unfairly cute but harmless pout.

“And um what?”

“Ah, you’re gonna need a little more powder,” Harry says, gesturing at the machine, “I can barely see it. It looks like you just sprinkled it on top.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow.

“I did,” he says, confusion seeping into his tone.

Harry reaches down to the box of powder Louis’ brought with him and digs the blue plastic spoon in there until it’s full. He dumps three quarters of it in the machine closest to him and the rest in the machine with the whites.

“I see.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, watching as Harry gently closes each lid and adjusts the settings.

“Okay,” he says, turning toward Louis, “now come here.”

Harry holds out his hand for Louis to take but Louis ignores it and steps close himself. Harry tries not to feel hurt by that but there’s a small stab of something somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“Now you just need to turn the dial to ‘normal machine wash.’”

Louis reaches out and twists the dial on the first machine but Harry covers his hand and twists it one notch further.

“You just fell short love,” he says, cursing the way his voice gets rough as Louis’ hand clenches beneath his own.

“Okay,” Louis says, sounding awfully like he’s trying to ground himself, “okay, thanks.”

Once both machines are whirring away, he turns to Harry and shoves his small hands in his front pockets, flicking his fringe away as he hesitantly meets Harry’s probing gaze.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Harry enquires.

He watches Louis’ Adam’s apple bob in his throat and then notices him drumming his fingers against his thighs.

“Nothing to talk about Harry,” he says in a tiny voice.

It sounds like the in-person version of his goodbye and Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the solemn frown on Louis’ lips nor the beaten, crestfallen look in his eyes as they skate across his own. He doesn’t look like he wants this but he’s afraid. Harry might understand it but he can’t bring himself to accept it. He can’t accept Louis’ dismissal. Not when it’s so clear to him that Louis needs someone in his life to show him the value of his existence. To remind him that he deserves to be looked after and cherished just as much as the next guy.

“I’m going to go,” Louis says and is Harry imagining the croaky, thick sound of his voice? “It’ll just be a few hours right?”

Louis tilts his head at the two washing machines as he starts to back away and Harry’s first instinct is to follow his movements. To trap him against the wall and plead for his acknowledgement but he can’t. Louis is afraid and making him feel like a cornered animal certainly isn’t going to alleviate the pressure in his life. Harry doesn’t want to be a cumbersome presence looming over Louis, forcing him into situations that make him uneasy. He’d like to convince Louis that no matter how Duncan’s wrath manifests, it isn’t worth this life of constant restriction. It isn’t worth the tiptoeing around Duncan’s feelings and thinking he doesn’t have the right to his own. He’d like Louis to willingly accept his offer of friendship because he knows instinctively that his own needs are just as important as his boyfriend’s, if not more. Louis’ first duty should be to himself.

“Right,” Harry lies, knowing a cycle will take just 60 minutes.

He smiles softly at Louis but Louis simply averts his eyes, turning and disappearing quickly from the room without looking back. It hurts Harry in a way he doesn’t like to concede. It worries him that maybe the problem is that he isn’t worth it. It hurts that while being friends with Liam seems to be something Louis is willing to risk, being friends with Harry is not. There just might be another block to Harry becoming part of Louis’ life and he’s not sure that he’s strong enough to break down whatever it is that’s standing between them. He just has to make his peace with it for now. Until he can start working at those defences again.

An hour later, he pulls his own wet clothes from his machine and then tends to Louis’ machines. After he’s dried each set of clothing, he folds all three sets and lays Louis’ and Duncan’s clothes (despite the fact that it grinds his gears to be folding that prat’s clothes) neatly in Louis’ washing basket. He slips the envelope out the back of his jeans and rests it atop the clothes before placing the basket on top of the empty washing machine. He gathers his own clothes in his arms and heads back to his flat, only pausing to gaze briefly at Louis’ closed door.

……

It’s getting towards late afternoon when Louis finally makes his way back to the laundry room with a slight headache and an ache in his joints that he can’t explain. There’s a bigger ache in his chest. Why does he feel like such an arse for turning Harry away? It’s not like he has any choice. He can’t have anything to do with him after what happened. There’s no question of choice. He’s not choosing his boyfriend over a friend. It’s just the way it is. He can’t make everyone happy and he can’t keep disappointing Duncan. He can’t keep being the only thing that stands in the way of their happiness together.

When Louis opens the door of the laundry room and sees the clothes sitting atop the machine, the ache pulses and grows, leeching into the surrounding tissues. His throat clogs up with this funny feeling and he’s not sure why this tiny act of kindness makes him feel so clogged up with hurt and perhaps a little longing. Yet he can’t deny that when he spies the envelope resting on top of one of Duncan’s jumpers, his heart leaps into his throat and he tears at the seal desperately.

A small, rectangular piece of paper flutters to the floor and it’s face down but Louis can see traces of blank print through the back. He picks it up with deft fingers but drops it again when his eyes take in what’s been written in Harry’s cursive script. For a moment, there’s that thing stretching itself inside his chest, stealing his breath and making him tingle all over but then he remembers that life isn’t fairy dust and miracles. He doesn’t believe in that shit anymore and he sure as hell doesn’t need Harry-hipster-Styles making fun of him. He storms up the corridor to his own flat and drops the basket onto the couch. Then he marches back out, the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. He pounds on Harry’s door until his hand starts to feel numb.

When Harry wrenches it open, he’s standing there without the dark brown jacket he’d worn earlier and his dark top is unbuttoned halfway to reveal his swallows and a creamy expanse of skin that shimmers slightly as if he’s just rubbed moisturiser into it. In fact, Louis can smell a hint of vanilla mingling with peach and there’s the scent of a familiar brand of strawberry shampoo to add to the mix. Harry’s hair looks damp at the ends so that explains that. His fringe is untamed, sweeping across his forehead in a messy array of curls and his emerald eyes are shimmering; completely incandescent, as though he’s just been laughing. He’s stunning and it’s awfully hard to deny it but Louis won’t fall prey to the thing clamping down on his insides, making them clench.

“What the hell is this Harry?” He demands, holding the paper up for Harry to see.

That flowing green river freezes over as Harry takes in Louis’ angry expression.

“Lou, I-“He reaches out to touch Louis’ shoulder but Louis pulls it away.

“No, Harry. What the fuck. This is a cheque for ten thousand pounds. Do you think that’s funny? That you can give me some phony cheque and we’ll have a bit of a laugh about it and somehow that will make us friends. Harry, we’re not friends,” Louis sighs, his anger dissipating some, “we can’t be.”

Louis hears Harry swallow noisily and he tries not to flinch under that intense, soul searching stare that flows down his body like hot molten lava. The clamp around his insides feels tighter.

“It’s not a phony cheque,” Harry says calmly, leaning against the side of door, one lean leg tucked behind the other.

Louis fish mouths.

“Remember when I said my mum handled a lot of charity events? Well that’s because she’s Lady Eliza Styles which means she’s married to Sir Edward Styles, the third. He owns like half of London,” Harry says and if Louis’ not mistaken there’s a bitter, twisted edge to his tone.

Suddenly Louis recalls the look on Harry’s face when Louis had waxed poetic about his loving, close knit family. He had thought Harry might have come from some kind of broken, empty home or something like that but he’d never considered this.

“Half of London,” Louis repeats with awe.

“That’s more accurate than you’d think too. So no, it’s not a phony check. It’s payment for the shoot. I told you I’d pay you.”

Louis shoves the cheque into Harry’s chest but Harry doesn’t lift his hands to take it.

“That’s ridiculous. I told you not to pay me and this is-this is not payment for a shoot. This is payment for I dunno, a year’s worth of shoots. You might be able to throw your money or your parent’s money around for kicks but I’m certainly not going to take it. Have some respect for your parents.”

Louis regrets the words the moment they’re out. Harry’s face clouds over with hurt and something broken and bruised fills his eyes. They’re teeming with a lifetime of pain and Louis knows he’s really stepped in it. He knows nothing about Harry’s family and yet here he is doing the one thing he gets so frustrated about people doing with him; assuming. He assumed he knew best despite the fact that the tension lines in Harry’s face and the drop of his bottom lip tell a completely different story to the one Louis constructed in his head. The one where Harry is a pampered, ungrateful rich kid who wastes his parents’ money just to spite them.

Louis reaches across and squeezes Harry’s elbow to get the other lad’s hazy green eyes to stop filtering through pain ridden memories. They flit back down to his face obediently.

“I’m sorry,” Louis sighs softly, feeling like a proper arse, “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not like it’s any of my business.”

“It could be,” Harry mumbles, his eyes chasing Louis’.

Louis eyes fall to the ink spanning the top of his chest, wondering whether the moisturiser that makes the swallows sparkle tastes anywhere near as good as it smells.

“Harry-“Louis tries to warn him.

“I don’t use it,” Harry cuts him off.

Louis is nonplussed and distracted by the way Harry sweeps his fringe up and over his head so it forms a loose, messy quiff.

“Use what?”

“Their money. It sits in a trust fund that I scarcely touch unless I really need it. Sometimes when I have a few less clients than usual, I do need it for rent but I get by the best I can. They send it every month, just a small amount, hoping that I’ll come to them begging for more and happy to return home. To that life. To a prison world. But I don’t use it. I’m saving it. I just thought this was some good I could do. To give it to someone who actually deserves it. You deserve it Lou,” Harry says with blazing intensity as he guides a hand across Louis’ jaw and then lets it fall to his side, looking like he expects the world’s worst rebuff.

“You don’t know me Harry,” Louis retorts, looking up at him with this breathless, warm feeling expanding within, “you don’t know what I deserve. And I-what are you saving it for?”

“I know you deserve good things Louis. Everybody does but especially you. You don’t have enough good in your life.”

There’s so much compassion in the way that Harry looks him over. A gentle probing look that makes Louis’ insides clench in a completely different way. It scares him how very much Harry sees. How much of Louis’ hurt has he cottoned onto and why does it matter to him so much anyway?

“You ignored my question. What are you saving it for?”

Harry’s blush crawls up his neck and spreads across his cheeks. He itches at the side of his hip, looking bothered.

“Harry, tell me.”

Louis shouldn’t be asking because he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be standing here in Harry’s doorway and arguing about money or asking about cheques. He should be in his flat waiting for Duncan’s return but something keeps him rooted to the spot. Something like the nervous flicker of light in Harry’s bottle green eyes. Perhaps it’s the way he bites the centre of his bottom lip until it turns white from the pressure or the way he hunches slightly, unconsciously making himself smaller as he reveals something that makes him feel truly vulnerable.

“I’m saving it for my baby,” he sighs.

So that’s a palpitation, Louis thinks, his heart clenching and then missing a beat completely. A baby. Babies are Louis’ kryptonite and he feels like the blue of his eyes might be melting down his face onto his shoes as he gazes at Harry.

The last time Louis had mentioned babies to Duncan had been when they were watching a nappy commercial and Louis had giggled at the baby crawling around with its nappy on its head. He’d told Duncan that when they had a baby, he would probably need proper lessons from his mum on how to put on a nappy. Duncan had frozen completely and then barely spoken to him for the rest of the night. When Louis woke the next day, there had been a note from Duncan to say he’d been called away for work again. Louis hasn’t mentioned babies since.

Now here is Harry-hipster-styles with a rose tinted blush fanning over his smooth, alabaster skin that smells of vanilla and just faintly of peaches, admitting that he already has a trust fund for a child he’s yet to have. Louis’ not naïve enough to completely miss the fact that he and Harry share this particular dream while he and Duncan clearly do not but he’s also not naïve enough to think that it negates his past with the man he loves. Harry is a fittie, a sweetheart and everything in between but Louis’ content. He’s got a boyfriend he’s not prepared to give up. He’s not interested in skimming his nose along Harry’s neck line and lapping up that delicious scent with his tongue. Not at all.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a baby daddy,” Louis teases, a trembling smile rolling across his mouth.

Harry’s eyes are on the floor and he doesn’t hear the lilting tone. His panic is clear as he looks up with wide, frenzied eyes.

“Oh no, I’m not-I don’t have a baby yet or anything but-“

Louis doubles over with laughter and wheezes slightly as Harry’s eyebrows climb.

“What?”

“I was joking Styles.”

Harry’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and then he’s laughing too, shaking his head at himself as Louis tucks the cheque into his own jeans, reminding himself that he will most definitely be giving it back later.

“Will you come somewhere with me?” Harry says suddenly and he’s biting that damn lip again, a precious plea filling his eyes.

“Where?”

“Just-please,” Harry’s eyes flicker sideways to Louis’ flat, “if you can I mean.”

Duncan won’t be home for another few hours and Louis’ done with work today. He can’t be Harry’s friend, can’t even entertain the thought of spending any real time getting to know the guy but the clamps around his organs are apparently speaking for him now.

“Lead the way hipster.”`

……

Harry pulls a laminated card from his glove box and flashes it at a camera and the black steel gate before them opens to admit their car. Harry pulls up the long driveway and drives around a tall water fountain to park alongside a garden that looks like it extends for miles. It’s a picturesque, lush green colour dotted with more than a few park benches and sprinklers that spray the flowers with water every few moments. Louis can even see a gardener tending to some of the hedges, the last dregs of afternoon sun falling across his hunched back. The fountain is surrounded by a smooth concrete pathway that flows into a tall set of stairs leading up to a gigantic six story house that looks like something out of a fairy-tale.

It’s a greyish-lilac colour with a greyish-blue roof and it looks aged and historic, in the most appealing way. Like a timeless antique rather than the dilapidated, rundown building you’d expect of something that looks this old. There’s tamed but furry green creepers crawling all up the front and the windows are large and set deep in the house with criss-cross iron bars across them. The huge dark oak front doors have shiny gold handles with brass knockers, the small balcony like area surrounding the doors filled with a vast array of colourful plant life that looks like it would be a pain to keep alive in the bitter winter that pervades London. Louis is transfixed.

“Harry.”

Harry doesn’t look at him as the car comes to a stop. He simply stares up at the house with something dark brewing in his eyes and perhaps a hint of fear poking out from underneath. Louis unbuckles his seat belt and reaches across to touch Harry’s hand. His fingers sink in between Harry’s on his thigh and suddenly he’s squeezing and their hands are locked together. He knows it shouldn’t be happening and his brow creases at the very thought of Duncan but Harry turns to meet his gaze then and his smile is so deep in his face, so genuinely appreciative that Louis pull away.

“Yeah?” Harry finally says.

Louis swallows down his original thought; your house is like a palace. Harry needs so much more than cheap sentiments like that and in this moment Louis wholly intends to give it to him.

“You don’t have to go inside. You don’t have to take me in there. I understand. I can see enough of it in your eyes. You told me the second time we met that this wasn’t you and I believe you. You don’t have to prove a god damn thing Harry,” Louis informs him, voice fierce.

Harry releases his hand but his eyes don’t release him just yet. They slice through his exterior to whatever’s bubbling underneath and Louis sinks a little in the car seat, shying away from the attention.

“Please,” Harry says simply, “I think…it might show you that I get it. That I wouldn’t ask you to risk being friends with me if I didn’t think it was worth it because god knows I understand that you can’t choose who you love. The same way you can’t choose your family. I know that these things aren’t black and white Lou. I don’t want to go in there,” Harry admits, “but I want you to see. I want you to know.”

“Harry-“

“Please Louis. I promise I’ll take you straight home. I’ll never breathe a word about this,” Harry promises, his expression grim.

Louis sighs and then pushes his car door open, waiting as Harry gets out the car and then comes round to his side. He guides Louis forward with a hand on the small of his back and it’s as reassuring as it is terrifying. Harry’s huge hand covers almost the whole width of his back and Louis’ skin feels hot beneath it. It’s as if someone poured gasoline down his shirt and Harry’s hand is the match, igniting his skin so it bursts into flames beneath his touch.

“You know this isn’t going to change anything right?” Louis asks just as Harry bangs on the door using the brass knocker.

Harry doesn’t respond but his fingers are still pressed into the curve of Louis’ back and he splays them out further, till the tips of his fingers curve around the edge of Louis’ hip. Louis jolts forward and there’s confusion in Harry’s look as the door creaks open to reveal a tall, smiling faced girl with hair that’s dark around the top but that flows down into a whitish-blonde colour. The girl’s mouth is wide and pouty like Harry’s and she’s got the same shaped nose too. Louis finds the contrast between her make-up and her clothing curious. Her brown eyes are rimmed with dark eyeliner and her lashes stand perfectly curled and printed black but she’s dressed in a rather plain, conservative lilac blouse with similarly unflattering grey trousers.

“Harry,” she squeaks and hauls Harry into a tight hug, her hand reaching up to sift through his curls.

Harry chuckles and presses a kiss to the side of her hair. Louis’ heart contracts a little in his chest. It’s kind of adorable.

“Hey Gem,” Harry’s voice rumbles as he pulls back next to Louis, “I can see our lovely parents have dressed you most flatteringly today. Like their little doll.”

Ah, that explains it. Gemma snorts and rolls her eyes, her smile still brilliant. It shows off her perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Yeah, they made me change. I swear to god Haz, if I don’t get a job soon, I’m just going to live on the fucking street. I can’t stay here,” she complains, her smile dimming.

“If you’d just let me help-“

Gemma cuts him off immediately, directing her gaze Louis’ way and nodding appreciatively. It makes Louis’ skin warm.

“Well done H. He’s gorgeous,” she gushes before extending a hand his way, “hello Harry’s new boyfriend that he’s never mentioned. I’m the scary older sister that would like to know your intentions with my brother before I let you inside. It has been a while since he’s dated anybody so I might be a bit out of practice with the whole “if you even _think_ about hurting my brother…” speech but I’m sure you can cut me some slack.”

She smirks at him openly and then winks at Harry. Louis is too overwhelmed with being labelled Harry’s boyfriend and being called gorgeous to do anything other than offer his hand. Gemma uses it to tug him into his own tight hug. She reaches up and pats his hair softly like she’d done with Harry and something swells beneath Louis’ ribcage. Something like his heart. He also wonders just how long it’s been since Harry’s dated anybody and why it’s been so long. He can’t imagine Harry wouldn’t have had plenty of offers. It must be by choice.

“Gem, let him go. He’s not my boyfriend. This is Louis, my neighbour and fr-“Harry cuts himself off and when Louis draws away from Gemma, he knows he’s responsible for those frown lines marring Harry’s beautiful skin.

“Nice to meet you,” Louis interjects, trying to banish any awkwardness as he smiles warmly at Gemma, “Harry’s told me so much about you.”

He says this because a friend would know everything about Harry’s sister who he obviously cares for very much. He says it because he wants Gemma to think they’re closer than they really are, if only to stop Harry from frowning about the fact that they really have no relationship to speak of at all.

It’s the right thing to say. Harry’s dimples reappear and Gemma smiles at her younger brother with an adorably fond look in her eyes.

“I hope you’ve been talking me up,” she says to him, one side of her mouth lifting high.

“Nope,” Harry says, “I just told him about how you used to throw your my little ponies out the window into the fountain and make mum and dad buy you new ones because you were so desperate for me not to play.”

Gemma laughs and buffets his shoulder. Harry turns into Louis, dimples twitching, as he tries to protect himself.

“You little shit. You know I was only a kid. A spoilt kid who didn’t know better!”

Harry’s still turned his way and Louis tilts his head back slightly to look him in the eye, his tongue dancing across the seam of his mouth as he bites back a laugh.

“My little pony Harold? Oh dear.”

Harry pouts, his forehead filling with creases all over again. His eyes are bright still and they drop down Louis’ face slowly, like he’s enjoying the shape of humour in Louis’ expression.

“Shut up,” he says quietly, his eyes still trekking a path down Louis’ face to his mouth, “don’t tell me you never wanted to plait the hair on one of those things.”

Louis snorts and Gemma is chuckling too. They share a congenial smile.

“Your brother is absurd,” Louis tells her.

Gemma cackles, her brown eyes filled with sparkling amusement as she sizes him up again.

“I’ve been trying to tell his friends that for years but apparently you’re the only one with any sense.”

“Clearly,” Louis agrees with a smirk.

“Hey!” Harry whines.

Gemma and Louis hi-5 each other and Harry’s arms cross as he looks between them with narrowed eyes.

“I hate you both.”

Louis’ got too much of a thrill running through his veins from bonding with Gemma. His hand darts up to trace the side of Harry’s cheek and he presses his thumb in the spot where Harry’s dimple would usually sit. Harry’s eyes widen and then near cross with confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to coax your dimple back out,” Louis says with a straight face.

There’s a snort from Gemma but Louis is lost in the hazy green eyes that swallow him whole.

“C’mon little fella,” Louis coos, rubbing more insistently at Harry’s cheek, “I know you’re in there.”

Harry’s laugh is choked and surprised as his mouth twitches and the dimple presents itself beneath Louis’ thumb.

“Were you really just talking to my dimple?” Harry says between loud, childlike laughs that sound like they’re being squeezed out of his chest.

Louis just grins at him, his eyes drawn to the hint of moisture on Harry’s lips. It rather reminds him of a succulent, freshly washed apple.

“Good god,” Gemma groans, “you two are as absurd as each other.”

“Gemma, what’s all the carrying on for? You’re disturbing your father,” comes a smooth yet severe voice.

A woman appears behind Gemma, peering out at Harry and Louis with initial curiosity which quickly morphs into disapproval. The woman is short and stout with small, birdlike hazel eyes and hair that’s as dark as Harry’s pulled back in a tight bun. Most of her features are quite narrow and sharp looking. There’s much less softness in her than in Harry and Gemma. She’s wearing a silver necklace around her neck with a huge, heavy looking blue jewel and a pale blue silk kimono that’s drawn tightly around her waist.

“Hi mum,” Harry says, his voice suddenly quieter and an awful lot less Harry-esque.

“Harry,” Eliza nods at her son but doesn’t acknowledge Louis’ presence.

“Just thought I’d come by and see you. It’s been…a while. This is Louis,” Harry says, running his hand across the top of Louis’ shoulder blade.

Eliza’s narrowed eyes settle on Harry’s hand and there’s so much coldness in that look. So much contained ferocity. As if she could rip Harry’s hand away with the burn of her hateful eyes alone. Ah, she’s like that then, Louis realises. Harry’s not just a rich boy who’d rather not be rich. Louis feels like a fool.

Harry’s hand starts to fall away as he takes in his mother’s critical look but something fiercely protective bursts in Louis’ chest. He reaches up and catches Harry’s hand, pinning it there. He doesn’t look at Harry but he can feel those large fingers tremble slightly beneath his own. Gemma is watching Louis with deep glowing approval and perhaps a hint of knowledge Louis’ not sure he wants to understand. Eliza looks like she’s about to shoot fire from her eyes and burn him where he stands.

“Harry,” she says calmly but Louis can hear the discontent and growing annoyance beneath her perfunctory tone. “Your father is in a very important meeting with the ambassador from China. It’s important I be there to support him. I’m sorry but you and your ‘friend’” she directs her gaze to Louis, her eyes glacial, “will have to come back another time.”

Harry forcibly pulls his hand from Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ mouth frowns of its own accord.

“He’s not…I’m not dati-he really is just a friend.”

Eliza’s eyes slide between the two of them, calculating and then she nods and steps to the side, gesturing for them to enter.

“Very well. I suppose I can fit you in before your father and Mr Chen are ready to adjourn for lunch. A quick meeting of sorts,” she says, tone brusque and businesslike.

A meeting? A fucking meeting? Louis can feel his eyes are wide in his head. Harry is her son but he might as well be a fucking stranger, the way she’s talking to him. Like he’s a client. Like he’s an inconvenience and a burden.  As Harry bows his head and ducks inside, Louis follows. Eliza’s eyes narrow and her mouth curls as she spies Harry’s unbuttoned shirt. Louis finds himself glaring balefully at the woman who dares to call herself Harry’s mother. She clearly has no concept of what that really means.

Gemma squeezes Louis’ arm from behind as Harry’s mum leads them down a long corridor to a large sitting room with plush olive green seats that have sparkling, shiny silver frames around them. There’s a grand piano sitting in the corner and a bookcase that spans the width of an entire wall, filled with thick volumes of books that look dusty and unused. There’s even a fire roaring in the grate yet something about the room seems very stiff, frosty even. As if the absence of love and laughter in the Styles’ home might have seeped into its orifices and coloured everything with a kind of lifelessness and frigidity.

“Welcome to hell,” Gemma whispers.

Louis looks back at her with mournful eyes. He can’t imagine living with this woman all his life. This cold creature with no soft looks and no intimate touches to spare. She’s yet to hug Harry or show any sign of affection. Louis can’t remember the last time he saw his mum and she didn’t throw her arms around him the moment he came into view. It makes him undeniably grateful to have had the family he did.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, unable to help himself.

Gemma’s smile is kind, if not slightly defeated. She tugs him down onto the couch with her and Harry seats himself down beside Eliza.

“So,” Eliza starts, “how is your job going?”

It sounds like a polite enquiry. It sounds like an entirely innocent confession of interest in her son’s life but Louis feels Gemma stiffen beside him and he sees the fear leap up Harry’s throat and into his eyes. He hears the air quotes around the word ‘job.’ Fond of those air quotes, she is.

“Good, thank you,” Harry responds, only a slight trace of discomfort in his tone as he talks to his mum like he might a stranger passing him on the street, “I’ve booked a lot of events lately.”

“Making enough to pay your rent yet?” She enquires, ducking her chin a little to pierce Harry’s skin with a sceptical, patronising look.

“Harry’s actually doing a shoot for GQ. He should be paid quite a lot for that actually. Right, Haz?”

Eliza and Harry’s heads both snap his way and Louis’ heart races a little as he wonders at his own inability to hold himself back. He’d seen the flicker of self-doubt making its way across Harry’s face and it had disturbed him so. Harry has such passion for capturing photos and he obviously explored that passion against his parent’s wishes. Anybody with that much conviction has Louis’ not so easily gained respect and unwavering support. He couldn’t stand to see Harry’s own mother making him feel like he couldn’t be proud of himself. Yet Harry’s looking at him like he just grew another head, as if he can’t possibly understand why Louis would dare to say such a thing.

“Harry, is that true?” Eliza asks, her voice softening only slightly as she reaches across and lays a hand on his knee.

It irks Louis that what it takes for Harry’s mother to show him any kind of kindness is him attaining the kind of achievement that _she_ approves of. It’s not right that she can’t love him for the way he is, making out as though Harry were defective simply because his passions do not match hers.

A parent is supposed to love their child irrespective of their differences and Harry’s happiness should be Eliza’s happiness. Clearly that is not the case. There are worse things than homosexuality and photography. Much worse things. Yet Eliza regards Harry with distaste and a genuine lack of maternal warmth. It bothers Louis deeply that Harry looks up at her with slightly misty eyes as if it’s the gentlest she’s ever been with him.

“Yes,” he admits, a weak smile forming, “they’re going to use my photoshoot. I’m not sure when.”

Instantly Eliza retracts her hand and that singular note of leniency disappears from her tone.

“So nothing is set in stone? There’s no contract? They could quite easily decide to go a different way Harry, couldn’t they? There are much more talented photographers out there after all. It’s not like you’ve had any training.”

Louis can tell each word is cutting Harry deeply. His smile freezes, fluttering there for a moment at the corners of his fleshy lips before falling away. He starts to look more like a wax figure than a living, breathing human. Frozen in a state of despair. For a moment, Harry had thought he had earned her approval.

“Harry, we’re leaving,” Louis says abruptly, bouncing up from the couch.

Harry’s head had fallen down but it snaps up now, his sad green eyes meeting Louis’ with bewilderment.

“I-“

Louis marches over to him and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly and pulling on his hand a little to get him to stand. Harry follows his lead but he’s not moving. He’s just standing there, staring down at Louis with incredulity as if Louis has done something so remarkable that he cannot fathom it.

“C’mon,” Louis pleads, “let’s just go.”

Harry nods then and squeezes Louis’ hand back. Louis leads them away from the couches and towards the door of the sitting room. Just as they reach the doors, he turns back to offer a stunned Gemma a brilliant smile.

“Lovely meeting you Gem,” he says, with genuine affection.

“You too,” she chokes out, raising her eyebrows at Harry and communicating silently with him in a way that Louis doesn’t even try to understand.

“So you’re leaving? Harry dear, aren’t you going to scream and stamp your feet like you usually do?” Eliza asks, an air of cool disinterest in her tone.

Louis’ not fooled, he can see the embers glowing in her catlike eyes. Harry’s obviously stood up to her before but perhaps nobody’s ever come into her house and done it for him. She’s perhaps always been able to push Harry around if she really wants to. She couldn’t stop him living his life the way he desired but if she couldn’t do that, she was determined to make him feel like absolute shit for doing so. She wanted to get under Harry’s skin and it’s clear from the way Harry’s hand hangs limply in Louis’ that she often does.

“Yes, we’re leaving,” Louis answers for them both, tightening his hand in Harry’s as he continues, his voice taut with tension, “because we have better things to do with our time.”

Louis turns toward Harry with the sole intent of pissing Eliza Styles off. He uses his hands to smooth out Harry’s collar, stretching his shirt open wider as he runs his hands across the sides of Harry’s chest to land on his shoulders.

“I love it when you wear your shirts unbuttoned,” Louis says, forcing a silky, seductive tone.

Harry’s breaths come in short gasps as Louis leans down and plants two soft, wet kisses on his exposed chest. His tongue darts out to trace Harry’s tattoo and he lingers for a moment, hanging there for an uncomfortably long amount of time. However when he hears Harry’s breath stop, he remembers himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he pulls away. His tongue was supposed to stay firmly ensconced in his mouth. No matter. Louis turns his head back to Eliza, delighting in the shocked gasp that bursts from her mouth as her face contorts with displeasure.

“Your son is a wonderful ‘friend’”, Louis assures her, winking as he reaches his hand out and smooths it across Harry’s smooth, pale chest.

He trusts that she knows what he means by friend. A naked friend.

“Bye love,” he calls to her, tugging on Harry’s hand and pulling him through the open doors.

Once outside the room, he begins to run down the hall and Harry runs too, messy laughter spilling from their open mouths as they drag each other along, eyes slotting together like two bent out of shape puzzle pieces that are bent just right for each other. It’s a ridiculous thought and Louis shakes it away as thoroughly as he tries to shake away the taste of Harry’s skin. Peaches and cream. It was absolutely decadent. Louis is not flustered.

…..

“Thank you.”

Harry’s eyes are trained on their complex that towers over the street where he’s just parked, his red mini cooper coming to an abrupt stop just moments ago. Then again, perhaps Louis had just been too lost in thought to notice it slowing.

“You said that already Harold.”

Harry turns to him and Louis follows suit. Harry’s eyes are glistening and his hand lifts up to touch, to do…something but when he sees the warning in Louis’ eyes, he lets it fall.

“I just-“

“Look I shouldn’t have um,” Louis pauses as the various options fill his mind, _tested my hypothesis that you taste exactly like you smell_ …. _pressed my lips against your skin and wondered what it would be like to press my mouth against your pulse_ …. _tried to lick away the taste of you and take it with me_ , “kissed you like that. Or um, licked you.”

“You licked me?” Harry says, his eyebrows climbing high.

Mother fucking shit fuck. Of course. Louis’ tongue is like a tiny lizard tongue and Harry had been standing there in front of his fucking family for god sakes. Of course he hadn’t felt it. Louis is a stupid git.

“Um no,” he says, warning his skin to cool it.

It doesn’t. Harry’s smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he leans forward to inspect Louis’ heated face.

“You’re blushing,” he concludes with glee.

“’m not,” Louis mumbles, tucking his chin into his neck, “’s just hot in here.”

Harry chuckles for a moment but then tucks a finger underneath Louis’ chin and lifts it. When he does, his jade green eyes are full of soft gratitude and something deep and heavy that balloons inside Louis’ chest.

“Thank you. I mean that,” Harry says, “and I know why you did that for me. It didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. The look on my mother’s face, it was brilliant. I fight with her, I stand up to her even but not like that. That was…you are…”

“It was nothing,” Louis mutters, pulling his chin away.

“Lou, you wanted to help me. To protect me. To be my friend when I needed you. Can’t you see that’s all I want to do for you? To be there,” Harry pleads.

Louis snaps.

“It’s not the same Harry! Your mother is like a fucking ice woman and I don’t imagine your father is any better. You-you needed someone to show you that it’s okay to be proud of yourself even if they aren’t. She was making you question that. You’re brilliant Harry. I needed you to see that,” he blurts, his volume climbing higher.

Harry’s smile is sad. Wearied perhaps. His voice is a breathy whisper when he responds.

“You don’t see how much we have in common Lou. How much you need the exact same things I do. How much I want to be there to give them to you.”

“I don’t even know you,” Louis says angrily but he thinks Harry can probably hear the fear in his voice.

“And you still came with me. Did that for me. Why?”

Louis pulls the envelope from his pocket.

“I have to go,” he says simply, “Duncan’s probably home.”

Harry nods, his dimples completely absent. Louis leans over him and manoeuvres the envelope into the tight front pocket of his trousers, his fingers pressing into Harry’s thighs for just a second before he withdraws them. Louis’ hand is on the handle and he’s about to get out when Harry’s voice rises again.

“Louis-“

Louis turns back to him and presses his thumb against the missing dimple.

“Baby hipster deserves that money so much more than me love.”

…….

Duncan’s pressing kisses to the side of his hair as he lifts their empty plates off the table and lingers, balancing them against his hip.

“I love you Louis Tomlinson,” he crows, his mouth working its way down Louis’ hair to his neck and then to the crook of his shoulder which always makes him giggle, “yes I do, I love you.”

Louis turns his head and meets Duncan’s mouth and wonders how long the sweetness will last. He knows the answer. It will last until he screws it all up again. He mustn’t do that. He has to stay away from Harry. He has to be the kind of boyfriend Duncan deserves.

“If you love me so much, where’s my dessert?” Louis asks with crinkled eyes and a pursed smile.

“Coming right up baby,” Duncan sighs, pressing one last kiss to his lips before carrying the plates away.

When he returns, carrying two plates and a couple of spoons, Louis almost chokes on his sip of wine.

“Is that-“

“Peach cobbler,” Duncan finishes, grinning broadly as he places Louis’ dessert before him, “why yes dear, it is. Bit unhealthy. You’ll have to work twice as hard in the gym to keep your body toned for me but we haven’t had it in ages. I even put an extra dollop of cream. I know much you love the taste of-“

_Peaches and cream._

“Yes, thank you,” Louis interrupts desperately, “thank you babe.”

He rises up out of his chair and leans across the table to kiss Duncan. His heart is rabbiting in his chest as he heaps his spoon with cobbler and a hint of cream and slides it inside his mouth. His eyelashes flutter as two swallows rise up before him and by the time he’s done eating, he’s not sure he’s even seeing the cobbler before him.  His brain is fuzzy and he damns the hipster next door and his unfairly sweet tasting skin to the fiery pits of hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this so hopefully that comes across. Feedback is the best thing in the world, especially when I have to go back to uni tomorrow and can't just sit at home delving into this world whenever the need arises :'( So let me know what you think xxx

“ _Hi there.”_

“Hello gorgeous.”

“ _How’s your day been?”_

“Average but it’s looking up.”

“ _That was disgusting.”_

“I know.”

“ _Is that my batman t-shirt?”_

“You left it on my floor babe.”

“ _Looks good on you.”_

“ _You_ look good on me.”

“Ahem,” Harry coughs exaggeratedly, hitting the back of Zayn’s shoulder with his open palm, “guys I’m right here.”

“Oomph,” Zayn huffs as he stumbles forward under the pressure of Harry’s hand.

Liam comes around from the back of the front counter to inspect Zayn’s shoulder while Zayn whines like a pitiful, injured animal. Harry’s honestly never seen him so pathetic. Liam starts massaging his shoulder and Zayn starts talking in that fast, hushed whisper that he does where he assumes no one can hear him, even when someone’s standing right next to him.

“Guys,” Harry interjects, “still right here.”

Zayn looks back at him with annoyance but Harry just raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Remember why we’re here.” Zayn rolls his eyes and turns back to Liam with a scowl. He hadn’t wanted to take part in this but Harry had sat in his lap and looked up at him with the saddest, green eyed puppy dog look he could manage, until Zayn started absentmindedly petting his curls and finally agreed.

He’d then spent an hour painstakingly gelling his hair into the perfect artful position and had then tried on seven different pairs of skinnies that all flattered his toned legs equally. Now Harry understands the way Zayn’s mouth had twisted up to the side as he’d picked up the batman t-shirt lying by the foot of his bed and why it had stayed that way the whole way to the gym, as if someone had placed a hanger in the side of his mouth.

“Sorry love but I’m not just here to see you,” Zayn says with considerable effort, “I need to ask you a favour.”

Liam’s hand is on Zayn’s shapely hip, his thumb smoothing over the crease in his t-shirt that remains just a little bit loose on Zayn. Harry’s not sure the poor sod even realises he’s doing it. He’s too preoccupied with gazing at Zayn’s face like a love-struck dope.

It’s a little bit cute. If it were any other occasion, Harry might have ran back home for some popcorn and a box of tissues to mop up his tears….but he’s been thinking about this idea ever since he took Louis to meet his family two days ago and he’s anxious to put his plan into action.

“What is it?”

“It’s about Louis…”

Liam’s eyes finally break away from Zayn’s face and flit toward Harry, a crease forming between his furry eyebrows. Now that Liam has found a rhythm with Zayn, it seems that his shyness has vanished from sight and Harry is happy to see it go. Liam’s the kind of guy who’s got the least numbers of reasons to feel insecure but is still somehow the most insecure guy in the room. He’s in a pair of high waisted grey drawstring pants with a black shirt that sports the gym logo. It’s obvious how much he works out and how very little effort he has to put into his appearance to look as attractive as he does.

“What _about_ Lou?” Liam asks with a shrewd look in Harry’s direction, his arms crossing over each other.

He looks rather like an over protective dad, as though Harry were a slimy prom date trying to deflower his daughter and steal her innocence. Harry’s quite sure that if anybody’s going to be ruined, it will be him.

“Look Liam, I’m not about to ask you to betray your best-“

“Funny,” Liam grumbles, interrupting Harry’s pitch, “because that seems like something people say right before they ask for exactly that.”

“Hey, Li,” Zayn says, cupping Liam’s jaw and turning his head back, “Harry’s just looking to join the gym okay? That’s all. We also thought maybe you could…if you could just let him know…”

“When Louis will be here,” Harry finishes, “please.”

Liam’s hand is back to squeezing Zayn’s side but he still looks wary as he glances between the two of them.

“So you can ambush him? Look, I’m not saying I agree with him shutting you out, mate…because you seem like a really decent human being, especially from everything Zayn’s said but if he really doesn’t want anything to do with you, who am I to force him into that? If Duncan found out…” Liam’s face is pained, “you know I’d never forgive myself. Not if he hurt Louis.”

Harry takes a step in Liam’s direction, a wave of softness working over his face as he realises just how lucky Louis is to have someone like Liam in his life. Someone who has Louis’ needs in mind and won’t do anything to jeopardise his welfare. Louis needs that, someone who is always on his side, no matter what.

“Hey,” Harry says gently, “I’m not asking for you to get him in trouble. I don’t want that but how is it any different from you hanging out with him here? That’s a risk too. I just thought…I mean, how can he say no if it’s no different from him seeing you here? If he really wants me to leave him alone, I promise I will but I can tell that you don’t want me to give up on him. You think I could do him some good.”

“Maybe,” Liam agrees with a tilt of his head.

“So will you help me?” 

Liam taps his foot as he stands there fixing Harry with a speculative look, as though trying to decide whether Harry’s good enough for his princess. Harry’s mind fills with images of Louis perched on the edge of his bed in a tiara and nothing else. Death by chocolate, he reminds himself. Sickly sweet. Not arousing, he chants, not arousing at all. If only his cock understood his chants.

“Zayn,” Harry says meaningfully, hitting the other lad’s shoulder to try and remind him of what they’d spoken about.

Liam’s hand gravitates up to knead at Zayn’s shoulder again and Zayn’s hand is on Liam’s hip now, pressing against his hip bone.

“Oh…right,” Zayn’s memory clicks and he leans forward, turning his head just slightly so his breath brushes against Liam’s ear as he whispers the promise Harry had advised him to make, this time so Harry doesn’t have to hear the intimate longing in his voice.

Liam’s hand stills on Zayn’s shoulder and he chokes on nothing. It’s quite amusing. When Zayn pulls away, Liam’s cocoa coloured eyes are wide and he nods in Harry’s direction.

“Okay,” he agrees and Harry punches his fist into the air, “but I’ll hold you to that,” he says to Zayn.

He points at Zayn as he says it but Zayn doesn’t look at all bothered. When Harry had explained it to him, he’d leapt off the bed with a squeak and then had stood there for a better part of a minute with glazed eyes and a vacant expression, fantasising like a sex crazed school boy. Ugh. Harry had to do it though. It is what it is.

……

“I’m really nervous Tay.”

“Why are _you_ nervous?” Taylor says with incredulity, tugging him down the street by his hand.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Louis moans.

He’d spent half an hour trying to figure out what kind of outfit would most impress a chilled out DJ who’s apparently some kind of Scottish Adonis. Not to mention he’s tall, blonde and muscled. The trifecta. He’ll probably think Louis is some kind of odd, elfin creature with his tiny shell shaped ears and casual ensemble of a hoodie and jeans.

Then again, Louis supposes that the guy is dating Taylor, his fashion forward best friend whose fashion forward choices are, every now and again, admittedly awful. Today however, she’s sporting some cute, black mini shorts and a black and white striped, long sleeved shirt, her hair pulled into a perky high ponytail and her classic red lipstick painted over her lips like airbrushed perfection. Louis is always telling her she should do lipstick commercials.

“Of course he’ll like you,” Taylor assures him, “and besides, it’s his job to impress _you_. Not the other way round.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, confused.

“Why?”

“Because you’re like my dad and you have to approve of him so I can continue dating him. “

“Gross” Louis complains, “I am not your dad. Never say that again.’

“Older brother?”

“Better,” Louis concedes, “but I’m pretty sure you’ve never utilised one iota of the dating advice I’ve given you. Remember John? I told you not to get involved with him so you slept with him just to spite me and let’s not forget Taylor, the only one of your ex boyfriends that I ever liked but noooo, you had to go and dump his poor, extremely firm arse.”

Taylor snorts a laugh.

“You only liked him cause you said he reminds you of that werewolf guy off twilight. Besides, can you imagine our wedding? Taylor, do you take Taylor to be your lawfully wedded wife for as long as you both shall live? Not to mention I’d be Taylor Lautner too, if I took his name. No one would take us seriously!”

“Still,” Louis says, just to be difficult.

Taylor arches her eyebrows at him, her thin lips pressed together letting him know she thinks he’s utterly pathetic.

“As if you have anything to complain about anyway. I’ve been telling you the same thing for three years now and you’re still stuck up Duncan’s arse,” Taylor says accusingly.

“Let’s not fight babes,” Louis sighs, “your man might think I can’t beat him up if he hears you beating up on me like this.”

Taylor trills a laugh.

“Oh honey, you couldn’t beat him up if you sat on your lovely neighbour’s shoulders and used his arms to swing the punches.”

Louis shakes his head to clear away the mental image.

“Oh shut up,” he tells her just as they push through the doors of the coffee house.

Inside, there’s a laidback atmosphere because it’s mid-morning and most of the businessman have headed off to their respective jobs. The school kids have also cleared out, rushing off to attend their own personal hellish institutes. There’s two overly made up blondes peering at an iPhone with identical looks of distaste on their faces and a pregnant woman reading a magazine to her belly on while rubbing it tenderly. It makes Louis smile.

In the very back corner, there’s a tall brute of a man who stands when he sees Taylor threading her way through the tables towards him. He’s got an angular jaw with a fair amount of light coloured stubble and Louis notes with abject horror that the man’s almost twice his size. The guy’s jeans look like they must have been custom made to fit his legs that stretch for miles and on top he’s wearing a white silk button down that presses against his muscled pectorals.

Taylor reaches him first and he enfolds her in a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. Taylor pulls back to look at him, her face showing confusion as she ducks in for a proper kiss. Calvin’s eyes fasten on Louis over her shoulder while he kisses Taylor and it would be creepy if not for the genuine note of fear in his eyes. Louis can’t help but chuckle aloud when he realises that not only is Calvin scared to kiss Taylor in front of him but he’s clearly just as anxious about this meeting. When Taylor pulls back, Louis immediately offers a hand and a toothy smile.

“I’m the best friend… Louis,” he introduces himself, “nice to finally meet you mate.”

Calvin’s huge bear-like hand swallows Louis’ and squeezes tight, only releasing it when he sees Louis’ face twitch with pain.

“You too,” Calvin says swiftly as he pulls Taylor into his side and they slide into one side of the booth, “I was starting to think she didn’t want us to meet.”    

“Me too,” Louis says, smirking as Taylor rolls her eyes. Obviously she knows him too well to not know what’s coming, “she was probably just worried you’d fall in love with me though.”

It’s a risk to make a joke like that when you’re gay and in the company of someone you’ve never met before but Louis knows enough about the guy from Taylor and he’s not disappointed when Calvin settles an arm around Taylor’s shoulders and winks at him.

“I can see why,” he says, pretending to check Louis out.

Louis’ head falls back as a delighted laugh spills from his chest. Taylor buffets Calvin’s side who just presses a kiss to the side of her face, instantly disarming her annoyance. Sucker, Louis thinks.

“So kiddies,” he says with gusto, rubbing his hands together as he smirks at Taylor, “what are your intentions with each other? Calvin, am I going to have to pick up the pieces of your broken heart when she inevitably writes an album about the demise of your relationship? _Or_ am I going to have to break your long giraffe legs for screwing with her?”

“Louis!” Taylor scolds him.

He just pokes his tongue out at her. She knows what he’s like and she’d still brought him here. Her fault really. He frowns as he realises this might be the reason she hasn’t introduced them before now.

“Well,” Calvin’s eyes flicker sideways to Taylor and there’s that look in his eye, that ‘you’re the only person who exists for me’ look that makes Louis ache inside, “I think we’ll be okay. I hope she writes an album about me really. Just hope it’s a happy one.”

Louis is just about to make fun of this muscle man for being so sappy when once again, Calvin proves worthy of his respect.

“I expect at least one song devoted to our naked exploits.”

Taylor hits him again, earning her another gentle kiss that puts the stars in her eyes. Louis tries not to sigh aloud or go green with envy. He has this after all. He has somebody to love and somebody who is in love with him. Somebody who kisses him just like that. So why does it suddenly feel like Taylor is living the kind of life he’s always wanted but never had? Why does he feel his chest contracting with a disturbing sense of unfulfilled need?

……

“I was wondering if maybe we could watch the brits tonight or you know, maybe just the red carpet because-“

“My team is playing tonight babe. Sorry,” Duncan says, as he reclines back on the couch and cracks open another beer.

“It’s okay,” Louis says as he wraps an arm around Duncan’s waist and snuggles into his chest.

Duncan’s hand goes to his hair but he’s shouting obscenities at the TV, his green eyes practically shooting angry sparks. Every now and then he pulls tightly, albeit unconsciously, on the ends of Louis’ hair and Louis winces but says nothing. The only time Duncan deigns to tear his eyes from the screen is when his phone goes off halfway through the game with a text from “Sasha.”

He snatches it up straight away and then announces that he “needs the john”, taking his phone with him as he walks quickly away. Louis is left with a slight sickness in his gut. When Duncan returns, Louis snuggles into him again but raises his head up to inspect Duncan’s expression. His eyes are wide and excited and there’s a hint of pink creeping across his skin. He looks blissful. Louis’ quite sure that no one’s ever had a shit that good.

“Duncan,” he says, quietly waiting until Duncan reluctantly tilts his head down and meets his eyes, “baby, who’s Sasha?”

There’s no hesitation or averting of eyes. No sign that he might be lying. Duncan strokes the back of Louis’ head with a calm look on his face and contentment in his eyes.

“A girl from my work. You remember…you know that dark haired woman you spent so much time talking to at the Christmas party a few years back? Her.”

Louis’ usually a stickler for details like people’s names and his memory is conflicting with what Duncan’s telling him. He had been slightly intoxicated but surely he would remember…

“I thought her name was Laura…”

Duncan’s expression goes rigid and then sour, his green eyes narrowing as he scrunches Louis’ hair in his fist, pulling more tightly. Louis’ breath halts.

“Are you accusing me of something Louis? I’m gay _babe_ , it’s not as if I’m going to fuck a woman,” he says with considerable venom.

Louis feels like a complete tosser. An idiot. His accusation makes no sense. Duncan’s never even so much as checked a woman out, let alone slept with one and yet here Louis is worrying that he might have something going on with one on the wayside. If anyone should feel guilty, it’s Louis. He’s the one who saw Harry behind his boyfriend’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he says with sorrow, “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot. I love you…I’m sorry.”

Duncan releases his hair but he doesn’t respond as he turns back to the television and resumes his aggressive yelling. It’s just as well, Louis thinks, I don’t deserve his forgiveness. His love. Then there’s a knock at the door and Louis’ breath stutters as he thinks about who might be there. There’s no reason to think it would be Harry. There’s no reason for Harry to approach him anymore and certainly not with Duncan around but still his stomach stops digesting his food and his brain starts whirring. When Duncan trudges over to the door, he follows with bitten lips and an erratic heartbeat.

“Oops,” Harry curses as he drops a pile of papers at Duncan’s feet.

He looks gorgeous in ripped jeans and a low cut, midnight blue t-shirt that has some illegible script written across it. His curls are untamed, brushing the edges of his ears and Louis kind of aches to reach out and touch them. He doesn’t. Instead, he steps around Duncan and drops to his feet, gathering half the papers in his hands to give back to a blushing Harry. Except when he looks up, Harry’s head is too close, looking down upon him. Their mouths part with surprise at the same time and Louis feels like those huge green eyes take up the entirety of his vision.

“Hi,” he says stupidly, trying not to feel hypnotised by the smell of cologne and the smell of Harry really, which fills his nose and makes his extremities go numb.

“Hello,” Harry says and his smile just glimmers at the edges of his mouth, like he’s holding a secret somewhere in the middle.

The secret might be that hears how disturbingly uneven Louis’ heartbeat is in this moment.

“Excuse me,” Duncan says with a low, menacing tone and Louis shoots up into a standing positon as he remembers himself, “but I thought I made it clear that you should stay the hell away from me and my boyfriend. Or else.”

He sounds like some god awful movie villain and Louis finds himself wanting to snort or roll his eyes. Harry looks a little bit nervous and he sways on his feet slightly. Louis fights the urge to grip his elbow and steady him.

“Yes, yes of course. I’m very sorry,” Harry says, his eyes on Duncan’s as he shuffles his papers into a much neater pile, “but I thought I’d…I thought it would be rude not to-“

“Spit it out,” Duncan cuts him off.

“I’m having a party in my flat tomorrow night and I’m having the whole building over. I thought you guys might want to come,” Harry says swiftly and Louis’ shock must have frozen his expression because when Harry’s eyes flick his way, there’s some kind of reassurance within them.

“No way in-“Duncan starts to object with a growl.

“I thought you could meet my girlfriend,” Harry interrupts, waving his hand about as he continues, “you know, to clear whatever this _thing_ is between us. So you’d know I’m not interested in your boyfriend in the slightest.”

Please say no, please say no, Louis chants to himself, looking up at Duncan who isn’t shutting Harry down immediately, much to Louis’ horror. Louis cannot have them in the same room. His boyfriend and his…his Harry. Well not _his_ Harry….just…oh fuck, why is he trying to define Harry to his own mind? It doesn’t matter.

“Of course we’ll come,” Duncan says and there’s that challenge in his voice, that ‘I’m determined to beat you at your own game’ tone. It’s the last thing Louis wants to be hearing right now, “we’d love to meet this girlfriend you must be so fond of.”

“Fantastic,” Harry says, clapping his hands together and beaming like a child who’s just been given one of those rainbow swirl lollipops, “I’ll see you both tomorrow night.”

He’s a child. A fucking curly haired, pink cheeked child. Why is he so angelic?

Duncan doesn’t even say bye, just slams the door in Harry’s face like the people person he truly is. Louis’ face scrunches with a scowl as he regards Duncan.

“Why did you say yes? I don’t want to go.”

Duncan looks extremely pleased by Louis’ reluctance and Louis feels another air bubble of guilt clogging up his throat because it’s not because he doesn’t want to see Harry.

“Well, we won’t stay long,” Duncan promises, pulling Louis into his chest and pressing a cheek against his hair, “just long enough for me to suss out this girlfriend and laugh at his probably kooky looking flat.”

“It’s not kooky,” Louis mumbles into his chest without thinking.

Duncan pulls back to look at him.

“What?”

“I said I love you.”

Duncan doesn’t say anything back but he pulls Louis to him and kisses him slowly, dipping his tongue in and out of Louis’ mouth until Louis’ head starts to feel fuzzy with lust and he forgets all about his hipster problems. Then, Duncan’s team gets a goal and he detaches Louis from his mouth and launches himself onto the couch, extending his feet out sideways so that Louis can’t even sit next to him anymore. Louis just sighs and tells himself that he doesn’t want to watch a stupid basketball game anyway.

……

“Louis,” Harry says, his eyes clinging to the insanely beautiful boy for a beat too long, before quickly jumping to the brick shaped body by his side, “Duncan. I’m so glad you guys came.”

Louis doesn’t look glad they came. He looks panicked as all hell, his eyelashes fluttering at rapid speed and his hands fisting by his sides. Harry doesn’t think Louis is even aware of it but suddenly he himself is distracted. Distracted by how exceptionally tiny Louis’ hands are. They’re infant-like fists, baby fists, if you will. Harry tries not to swoon. He might be staring when Louis arches his perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. Harry wonders if he plucks them. _Christ_.

He should really have already invited them inside by now but Louis is all trussed up in a tight grey t-shirt that scoops low to reveal his enticing collar bones and a black dinner jacket that pulls in at his tiny waist. Harry is distracted, to say the least. He can’t help but think how wonderful it would feel to fit his hands to that waist. He’s only human and Louis is seriously delectable. His trousers are too bloody tight and his hair is piled on his head in a messy looking quiff that looks entirely soft, despite not moving an inch.

Louis draws a sharp contrast with his thick bodied boyfriend who’s wearing a crumpled grey hoodie and an unflattering pair of maroon jeans. The guy’s only saving grace is the way his spiked hair has been left un-spiked tonight so that his blonde fringe sweeps across his face and highlights the green of his eyes. Harry doesn’t want to toot his own horn but he’d like to think his own are a much prettier green.

“Come in,” he says with a broad smile, as Louis simply continues to clench his fists and Duncan persists with his baleful glare.

Harry takes their hands with a wink at Louis and a plastic, insincere smile for Duncan. Duncan squeezes Harry’s hand until his own rings dig into the sides of his fingers and he has to concentrate for all his worth not to wince or show any sign of weakness. He will not be bested by this arsehole. Not in front of Louis.

“So this is my flat,” Harry says, walking backwards into the living space with arms spread.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Duncan grunts, cutting straight to the chase as he looks around Harry’s flat with an air of disgust.

Harry can’t imagine what Duncan takes issue with because he doesn’t think his flat is all that different from theirs. Then again, Duncan seems like the kind of guy who will construct a problem in his own head if he can’t find one in the environment that surrounds him. In other words, an absolute killjoy.

“I’ll just go get her, she’s in the kitchen mixing drinks. She’s a bartender,” Harry explains, making sure to beam like an undeniably proud boyfriend, “aren’t I the luckiest man in the world?”

Louis’ eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes scream obscenities. Things like, what the fuck are you doing and why are you doing it to me? The messages are really just variations of the text Harry had received late last night, questioning his motives and asking why he was determined to ruin Louis’ life. Bit dramatic really but Harry suspects that’s part and parcel of knowing someone like Louis.

He had tried to clear things up, explaining that he merely thought it was a good idea for him to substantiate the claim that he wasn’t interested in Louis with real life proof. This had for some reason, earned him even more ire and Louis had stated quite categorically that this wouldn’t fix anything. Harry ignored him.

He’s not about to give up on being the best thing Louis never knew he needed and so he’d waited anxiously to see if he would still turn up. Harry should have known that even if Louis didn’t want to go, if Duncan did, there would be no escaping it. Louis always comes second when the choice is between him and Duncan’s desires. Harry doesn’t know if he can ever change that but he’s not done with Louis, that’s for sure.

“Oh indeed,” Duncan agrees but there’s a sneer on his face like he thinks he’s too good for a lowly bartender.

Harry’s not too sure what Duncan does but from what Louis has said and the superior look on Duncan’s face, it’s got to be something corporate. Something that involves two tonnes of paperwork and a lot of meetings in suits with filthy rich men. He can imagine Duncan sitting around discussing the economy and throwing around words like “budget projections” and “gross income.” Okay, so maybe Harry doesn’t know the specifics but from the perpetually sour look on Duncan’s face, he can guess that it’s about as dry and dull as a job can be.

Harry disappears into the kitchen and walks up behind the small blonde haired woman messing with his blender. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and she turns and rests her body against the bench, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Oh hi babe,” she says with a pouty smile, her pale pink lip gloss glistening under the overhead lights.

She looks stunning in a black singlet that curves low around her impress cleavage and a pair of mid-length black shorts that fit her lithe body perfectly. They show off the shape of her perfectly curved hips that give way to a fantastic arse and a stellar pair of legs. She’s an absolute fittie and Harry couldn’t have asked for a better partner in crime.

“How’s the mixing going, sexy?” He asks her, smile notching up higher at the edges.

She flutters her eyelashes and then presses a finger to her chin dimple, tilting her blonde head only very slightly as she plays the part of the dumb blonde.

“Um…okay, I think…but maybe you could show me how to _really_ get it going.”

Harry’s smile expands until he’s grinding his teeth together just to keep a lid on it. Lou presses up on her toes and settles a quick kiss on his mouth and he loses it completely, a deep rumble forming in his chest as he presses his curls against the back of her shoulder and laughs into her neck. She pats his bum lightly and laughs just as deeply.

“Oh god, that was horrific,” Harry says with a grin, “I could not keep that up.”

“Agreed,” Lou says with bright eyes and a matching look of mirth, “kissing you is like kissing my baby brother. If my baby brother wore cherry lip gloss.”

Harry spreads his palms out in the air and shrugs, unabashed.

“Well my love,” he says, “the time has come for you to meet them so you better channel everything you learnt from your brief stint in acting school so we _don’t_ look like brother and sister,” Harry advises her, with a measured look.

She presses a kiss to his cheek which is much more regular and comfortable for them both and then tucks her arm around his waist. He slings his over her shoulder.

“It’ll be great,” she promises, excitement dancing in her eyes.

He knows why too. When he’d finally finished explaining on the phone, she’d cacked herself for five straight minutes before announcing, “You’re finally hooked on someone.” Harry had denied it vehemently to her…and perhaps to himself, until he was blue in the face. This of course had only made her surer that he was in fact, crushing on the boy next door. It’s preposterous but yet here she is moving towards the living room with that investigative glint in her eye like she’s a little bloodhound on the hunt and Louis is her prey. Jesus Christ.

“Louis, Duncan…this is my girlfriend, Lou,” Harry says with a boisterous sweep of his arm through the air to indicate said woman.

It’s accompanied by a dazzling smile that he sends Louis’ way.

Louis’ eyebrows jump and he looks rather confused for a minute before he rearranges his features into a smile and his hands jolts out to shake Lou’s. Lou, who is looking him up and down with absolutely no shame. Apparently she likes what she sees as she smiles hugely and winks provocatively at him. Louis blushes, it’s kind of gorgeous.

Then it’s Duncan’s turn and Harry imagines he can feel the rest of them holding their breaths as Duncan clutches Lou’s hand and leans subtly closer to peer at her more directly. His gaze shifts across her face as if looking for signs that she is in fact some kind of robotic, human lookalike. Harry holds in a snort.

“Good to meet you,” Duncan is the first to say and Harry and Louis breathe a sigh of relief, their eyes catching and holding for a moment.

Then Louis turns away, sliding his hand in Duncan’s back pocket. Harry forces a smile.

“You too and you and your boyfriend, together are just…” Lou waves her hand between them, her face all twisted up like she’s just sucked on a sour lemon, “the sweetest.”

It’s clear that she thinks anything but and Harry shouldn’t take so much pleasure from it, seeing as it’s probably because she’s got some crazy idea that Louis should be with Harry instead. Still, he can’t help the slight quiver of his smile that comes with her lukewarm assessment.

“Well we really should be going,” Duncan says with a loud, exaggerated yawn, “because I’m actually knackered. Just thought we’d duck in and meet the girlfriend.”

Harry snorts without thinking and then tries to cover it with a cough. Duncan is still sussing out Lou and doesn’t seem to notice but Louis’ pale blue eyes are like razers as he glares at Harry. It’s obvious that Louis is just as desperate to leave in order to get away from Harry, to escape the possibility that they might actually become friends.

It’s that additional barrier. It has to be. It’s not just the fear of Duncan. It’s almost like Louis has a fear of _him_...but that’s ridiculous. What reason has Louis got to fear him? Harry is sick of being headed off at every pass. If he can’t bend Louis’ will with subtle persuasion, he’ll railroad him any way he can and it starts now. It starts by showing Louis that they can be in the same place at the same time and the whole world will not implode.

“No, don’t do that,” Harry says, thinking on his feet, “because Lou really wants to show you her mixing skills, don’t you Lou?”

Lou looks up at him with a sly look on her face and then turns and wraps a hand around Duncan’s wrist.

“Yes, come with. Harry will look after your boyfriend,” Lou chirps.

If only, Harry thinks with a wistful, inward sigh. Duncan looks ready to fight her on it but then Louis presses up along his back and kisses the side of his face.

“I’m actually just going to go to the loo love. I’ll come find you when I’m done. Promise,” he vows.

Harry wants to roll his eyes but then Lou is tugging Duncan toward the kitchen and Harry’s too busy trying to catch Louis’ hand as he darts through the hordes of people to the kitchen and beyond. Damn.

…..

Louis has been hiding from him. Harry might have set up a blockade (a game of tenpin bowling with empty beer bottles as pins and an orange as the bowling ball) so Louis and Duncan couldn’t leave. However, that hasn’t stopped Louis from avoiding Harry at all costs.

Every time Harry finds him again, he pulls Duncan into a disgustingly intimate kiss that makes Harry’s chest feel strangely tight or runs off to the toilet again. Nothing is going to plan and Harry is quickly getting less sober as Lou plies him with alcohol and tries to get him to dance.

After a while Harry is so downtrodden that he gives up on engaging Louis, settling for curling up on his couch and staring at him like a semi-intoxicated creep. He watches Louis feel up his boyfriend and get felt up, looking for all intents and purposes like a man who is in fact, happily in love. Only, Harry knows better. Only, Harry’s seen Louis cry over his boyfriend and because of his boyfriend and he’s seen the reasons for it firsthand. He’s heard Duncan yell through the walls and he’s seen the manic edge to that anger flare in his eyes. It chilled Harry to his very bones.

Harry knows how these things go. The sadistic boyfriend is a total sweetheart when he wants to be. That is, just often enough to keep his lover around and chasing after him. Yet as soon as that switch is flipped inside, there’s no sign of that loving person. There’s only crazed eyes and a person who is no longer worthy of the one they’re yelling at.

It makes Harry feel truly ill watching Louis touch him like that and not because he’s jealous. It’s not because of the burn in his chest that he’s not thinking about. It’s because Duncan doesn’t deserve those beautiful, made-for-piano fingers, on his chest, in his back pocket or sifting through his hair. He doesn’t deserve the soft press of those thin lips inside of his own or those eyelashes brushing against his face as he pulls Louis in closer and sways them slightly from side to side. He doesn’t deserve any of it. It god damn hurts Harry to see Louis handing it over without a second thought. As if none of it is worth very much at all.

“You need another drink,” Lou whispers in his ear as she settles herself in his lap and slings her arms around his neck.

“No, I’m good,” Harry mumbles, knowing he sounds truly dejected but just inebriated enough not to care.

His patterned shirt suddenly becomes very fascinating as he refuses to meet the probing look in Lou’s eyes.

“Harry.”

“Shh Lou,” Harry whines, “please don’t say anything.”

“Babe,” she says and suddenly her voice has a glimmer in it that Harry doesn’t understand.

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?” She asks, combing a hand through the curls around his ear.

It feels nice. He reclines his head and hums his consent.

“Good,” she says, “because I really hope this goes better than the last time.”

Harry’s eyes fly open just as Lou presses her mouth against his. He goes completely rigid for a moment, his bum lifting up off the couch, his hands going to Lou’s shoulders to push her away. Yet she just pushes him back down and sinks her fingers into his curls. Though the pressure of her lips is still unwelcome and entirely too sticky, he can’t help but purr at the touch. Her mouth breaks away from his for a moment as she whispers in his ear.

“We can make him jealous too kid.”

Harry’s breath comes hot and heavy as he looks up and finds Louis staring at him over Duncan’s shoulder with something hot, metallic and near violent flaming in his eyes. Like a car that’s just burst into flames and is leaking gasoline all over the place. Louis’ mouth is pursed and his hands are fisting again as Duncan pulls back to ask him what’s wrong. Louis whispers something quickly, his eyes flitting back to Harry’s for a moment before he disappears into the kitchen. Harry is on his feet in an instant. Louis’ not getting away this time.

…….

Louis is banging his head against the mirror in the bathroom, trying not to think about hands in curls and stupid slutty blondes kissing equally stupid, curly haired hipsters, when he hears a quiet knock and then the door creaks open. Harry. Fuck.

Louis whirls around to face him and then tries to storm past him and back out to the party. Harry is too determined. One hand shoots out backward to close the door behind him and the other pushes Louis against the bench surrounding the sink. Those swirling green eyes are entirely too hypnotic, staring him down like they know entirely too much about his little freak out. Louis finds himself breathing far too quickly. He places a hand to his head as he starts to feel light headed.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, stretching a hand out to touch Louis’ head and then letting it fall just as quickly.

“Fine,” Louis snaps, turning around to look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t look fine. His eyes suddenly look all red, like maybe half the blood vessels inside them popped when he spied Lou kissing Harry. His skin looks all pinched and tight like someone gave him a bad face lift and Harry’s eyeing him curiously from behind, tilting his head so that the loosest curls fall across his eyes, shrouding them slightly. He looks a lot like a sullen, albeit perpetually curious child and Louis wants to soothe him. Kind of.

“Sorry,” he sighs, “I didn’t mean to snap.”

Harry shrugs like it’s okay but his eyes are still doing that weepy thing that makes Louis want to weep too. The hipster has him by the heart and is pulling tight on the cord.

“That was very realistic,” Louis eventually says, his voice giving nothing away, as he turns on the tap and begins washing his hands, for no other reason than that it gives him an excuse not to look Harry in the eye.

Harry chuckles and Louis shuts off the tap, looking up at him in the mirror with surprise.

“Well it was a real kiss,” Harry says, eyes still light.

Louis should feel better now that he’s not confronted with the doe eyed, weepy child but he still feels strangely ill. More so even.

“Thought you were gay.”

Why does Louis sound like he’s accusing the poor guy?

“I am…”

Harry looks and sounds confused; his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes searching Louis’ for a clue as to what his thoughts are. Louis turns around again and fights the urge to trail his eyes down to Harry’s jeans. Louis’ not sure how Harry managed to fit his giraffe legs into them but it seems that they’ve only gotten tighter as the night has progressed.

“So you didn’t like it then?”

Now why does that sound like relief?

“It was okay,” Harry shrugs, something working around the corners of his mouth, “I happen to like kisses.”

Louis ignores this.

“Lou? Really Harry? You couldn’t have come up with anything else?”

Apparently this is the best joke of them all because Harry loses it, slapping his knee and knocking his curly head against the bathroom door. His eyes are shut, his eyelids crinkled and his whole face has lifted beyond measure.  Louis finds himself wanting to smile at the dopey childlike way Harry laughs; the way his whole body shakes with it…but he resists, settling for crossed arms an expectant expression. Harry chuckles again when he opens his eyes and spies Louis’ consternation.

“That _really_ is her name,” Harry says with emphasis, “Her name is Louise Teasdale. Lou. Get it?”

Fuck. Louis’ made a complete arse out of himself. His arms uncross slowly and then he turns and resumes banging his head against the mirror. Harry giggles and it sounds like Morgan Freeman on helium. All deep and throaty but with that high pitched noise that every giggle has attached to it, simply by definition. It’s ridiculous sounding and of course the corners of Louis’ mouth are attracted to it like a moth to a flame. They push up against his own accord.

When Harry pulls Louis from his head butting, fingers curled around his shoulder, he spies the beginning of Louis’ smile. His liquid green positively melts and his fingers press more deeply into Louis’ jacket. He’s just standing there smiling at Louis, all dopey and beautiful. 

“I have to go,” Louis blurts out, wrenching himself away and darting out the door before Harry can stop him.

He only has to whisper one dirty promise in Duncan’s ear to tear him away from the bowling game he’d picked up in Louis’ absence. Louis is so desperate to leave that he scarcely apologises for kicking the beer bottles out of the way of the door so they can make it out. His phone is buzzing in his pocket and he hears Harry’s door creak just as he and Duncan enter his flat but there’s no use. He’s so done with Harry and the stupid, charming expressions on his stupid, alluring face.

…..

“Hey.”

Louis almost jumps out of his skin. He’s just come from the gym toilet and was just about to have a go on the cross trainer. Except standing in his way is one Harry Styles dressed in a green bro tank and tight, elastic type, black shorts. His biceps ripple a little as he leans forward and rests his hands on the sides of the door, trapping Louis there.

Louis suddenly wishes he’d opted for better workout clothes than a pair of grey sweats and his t-shirt he got from doing grease in high school. When Harry’s eyes slip down to his chest and spot the words “Grease: The Musical” and “Louis Tomlinson – Danny Zuko,” his eyes light up and his mouth gets all twitchy with the weight of his smile.

“Go on, laugh at me,” Louis sighs in defeat, leaning back against the toilet door.

Harry just looks confused.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the hell I’m doing here and tell me to get the hell away from you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to ignore whatever I say and just do whatever the hell you’d like?” Louis hedges, raising his own eyebrows.

Harry doesn’t laugh or look bothered. He nods with a speculative expression, like Louis’ just provided an interesting insight into his character.

“Besides,” Louis adds, “I assume you’re stalking me. You’re as persistent as my sisters when they want to put make up on me.”

“I assume you don’t fight them quite as hard though,” Harry says, leaning ever so subtly forward, so that Louis’ suddenly dealing with a whiff of moisturiser mingling with cologne. There’s also the barest hint of perspiration, “because you don’t mind make up, really.”

“Yeah, well.”

It’s a pointless and stupid thing to say and Harry knows it too. He chuckles and tucks his finger under Louis’ chin, knocking it higher. Louis tries thinking of cold things. Fridge. Ice cream. The North Pole. It’s no use. He can feel his skin heating up but he refuses to look away as Harry’s eyes roam across his face, studying it for the answer to a question he hasn’t yet voiced aloud. It feels intrusive and vaguely frightening.

“W-what are you doing,” Louis stammers slightly and fuck everything, he’s not playing this cool at all.

“Trying to figure out why every time you look at me, it’s like there’s two forces coming together and clashing in your eyes. Like part of you wants to let me in and be my friend and the other part…the other part of you is completely terrified.”

Louis rips his chin away, a different kind of heat rising to his face.

“I’m not ‘completely terrified,’” Louis argues, enacting what he feels is a rather perfect imitation of Harry’s slow, deep drawl.

“No need to get so defensive Lou.”

Harry’s smirk is highly irritating. Louis is just about to tell him so when the door opens behind him and he starts to fall backward. Thankfully Harry’s hand stretches out and wraps around his wrist, yanking him forward and into his chest.

“Sorry mate,” says a deep, northern accent that rather resembles his own and then the man moves past them.

Harry’s body is curled over his slightly and his face is against Harry’s neck. He can smell the peaches and vanilla. He can almost taste the sweetness of Harry’s cologne. His lips brush against Harry’s collar bone and Harry’s hands press tightly against his arms for a moment.

“Sorry,” Louis says, as he pulls away sounding truly constipated, “accident.”

Harry’s eyes are wide but he shrugs and releases a half crooked smile that Louis grasps with desperate fingers, willing it to mean that Harry doesn’t think anything of the fact that Louis just fucking kissed his chest. Again. He needs to get out of here.

“I need to go,” he says and then he watches Harry’s mouth droop and his body hunch.

It’s the exact same thing he’d said at Harry’s party. Harry turns around, as if meaning to walk away but then pauses.

“Oh wow,” he says, his body elongating as he stretches up a little, a precious smile returning to his mouth.

“Oh wow, what?” Louis asks, watching as Harry’s eyes hook into something he can’t see.

Harry’s hand curls around his bicep and then he’s pulling Louis behind him and threading his way through the exercise equipment. Suddenly he yanks Louis down behind a shelf that houses a collection of weights.

“Harry, what-“

“Shh!” Harry whispers, pushing his fingers against Louis’ lips.

Louis’ eyes are on those fingers as Harry pushes at the seam of his mouth. His stomach dips and his lizard tongue escapes his mouth to lick the edge of Harry’s finger. It tastes like watermelon. He’s not sure why and he’s not sure what the fuck his tongue is doing. Harry looks like he’s been zapped as he rips his finger away and Louis feels like such an arse for making him uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he murmurs again, “accident.”

Harry’s eyes are questioning for a moment and his mouth parts like he’s about to call Louis on his shit but then something snatches his attention and his head whips back to the front. He tugs on Louis’ hand to get Louis to look too. It’s Liam and Zayn. Locked in a passionate embrace. Zayn is kneading Liam’s ass and Liam’s fingers are gripping the sides of Zayn’s face like if he just holds him tight enough, their mouths will never have to part.

“Um they know they’re in public right? This is like the start of a really bad porno. It’d be called something like “naughty PT works up a sweat fucking favourite client,” Louis whispers, leaning into Harry as he does.

Harry looks down at him with a quiet giggle. Louis feels like it travels down his oesophagus and into his stomach, messing around with his digestion for a moment. Harry is so pretty. Why is he so pretty? Harry leans into Louis’ side as he responds, his curls tickling Louis’ cheeks and making Louis smile unwittingly.

“You really think Liam tops?”

Louis discretely points at Liam’s muscled physique.

“Look at those arms…and those legs…and his, everything really. I bet you he wouldn’t even let Zayn ride him. Probably likes to do all the work.”

Harry looks half amused, half irritated.

“Thought about what Liam’s like in the bedroom a lot have you?”

Louis shrugs.

“Not really. I’m just good at sexual math.”

Harry shakes his head at Louis with a grin etched into his features, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Um Haz,” Louis says softly and then regrets the nickname. That is until he sees the lift in Harry’s smile, “why are we spying on them exactly?”

Harry shrugs but then turns to Louis with a more serious expression.

“I’m worried about Liam,” he admits.

“What? Why?”

Harry sighs and his eyes suddenly drop down to Louis’ shoes.

“Zayn’s not--he doesn’t do this with guys. He’s had relationships yeah but I mean…relationships is a strong word. I’m scared he’s going to break poor Liam’s heart.”

Louis’ watching the action as he listens to Harry and finally, Liam and Zayn break their steamy kiss. Louis hits Harry’s shoulder to get him to look up.

“Hey,” Zayn is saying, a sweet smile pinned to his mouth and a seriously soft look in his eyes as he drags his thumbs down the sides of Liam’s cheeks, “I really want you to. I really like you.”

Liam’s looking at him with stars practically exploding out of his eyes, showering the floor beneath with blissful stardust. He blushes a little but then nips at Zayn’s mouth, his eyelashes beating down against his cheeks as he pulls away, hands squeezing Zayn’s hips.

“I really like you too,” he sighs happily, “and of course. I’d love to meet your parents. Even if they hate me for being a boy.”

Louis is not prepared for the loud gasp that erupts from Harry’s chest so he has no opportunity to clamp a hand down over his mouth or scout out somewhere new to hide. Harry doesn’t even care. He drags Louis to his feet and Liam and Zayn look like stunned rabbits as they stare at their respective best friends and share a look that says, “What the fuck is going on?”

Finally Zayn splutters, “were you two _spying_ on us…together?!”

“No,” Louis says swiftly.

“Yes.”

Louis glares at Harry but Harry doesn’t notice. He’s staring at Zayn like Zayn is Jesus Christ disguised. Or something.

“You’re really taking him to meet them?” He asks.

Zayn takes Liam’s hand and kisses it slowly, his eyes flickering with the ignition of a light that bursts forth from within, lighting up the whole damn room in the process. It’s that sickly sweet. The way he looks at Liam is like all he wants to do is feed him grapes and fan his blushing cheeks. It’s beautiful. It hurts. Has Duncan ever looked at him like that? Zayn and Liam have known each other for a few weeks. How are they so gone for each other?

“I’ve never taken anybody else before…I know,” Zayn says and Liam must know this because he simply nods, his eyes sticking to Zayn like it would be pure torture to look at anything else, “but this is the first time I’ve…” Zayn pauses and then squeezes Liam’s hand, “I’ve felt like I really had someone to show off.”

Liam looks like he melt right there. Louis doesn’t blame him.

“I-“Harry cuts off, seemingly speechless and then launches himself at Zayn.

They stumble backward a few steps and Zayn is laughing as Harry squeezes him and starts gushing about how proud he is, how happy he feels for them both. Louis opens his arms up for Liam with a smirk.

“Come here Lima. Let me tell you how much I love you sweetie.”

“Sod off,” Liam snorts, “you’re an arse.”

“You love me.”

“I do not.”

“C’mere you sickly sweet bastard.”

Liam wraps his arms around Louis, burying his face in his shoulder and pressing a gentle kiss there.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

Louis pats the back of his head as he meets Harry’s eyes overhead. Harry’s still locked in a hug with Zayn but he’s turned them around now so he’s facing Louis. His eyes are fond as all hell where they land on Louis’ hand stroking Liam’s hair. Louis should perhaps be ashamed but he’s not. He loves his Lima.

“Hate you too Li.”

……                      

“Hey Lou.”

Louis’ head shoots up like a pop rocket.

“Harry.”

Harry’s standing in the doorway of the tattooing room looking like something out of the pages of GQ. Fitting really. He’s wearing form fitting black trousers and a heavy looking white shirt with black and white striped buttons. He’s rolled the sleeves up halfway and has got on so many bracelets, Louis can scarcely spot the strips of skin in between. His necklace of the day looks like a bigger cat wrapped around a smaller one and his bright pink head scarf also has white kittens printed all over it. He looks ridiculous.

"Did you let your cockroach choose your outfit Harold? You look ridiculous."  
  
"Ridiculously cute?" Harry asks, a cheesy grin on his face as he tilts his head, knocking it against the side of the door and making his curls bunch up against his head scarf.  
  
Yes, thinks Louis, yes you’re ridiculously cute. Fuck.  
  
"No," he shakes his head with exaggerated vehemence, "you look like a six year old. Who else would wear kitten accessories and cheap bangles?"  
  
Harry points at Louis’ getup, his teeth showing. His eyes trail down over Louis' bright purple jeans and the white Henley tucked into his jeans that pulls tight across his biceps and stomach when he moves.  
  
“Well you look very...soft. Soft and small," Harry teases, stepping close to Louis and poking him in the stomach.  
  
Louis frowns and pushes his finger away.  
  
"I'm not fucking soft and small," he argues, "and forget that, what the hell are you doing here? How did you know where my tattoo parlour was?"

He pushes Harry lightly in the stomach but it has no effect and his fingertips stay pushed up against Harry’s abdominals as Harry’s hands encircle his wrists.

“I want to get a new tattoo,” Harry says, all charmingly flippant as he rubs his thumbs against Louis’ wrists and Louis tries to quieten his disobedient pulse.

Louis pulls himself away and turns to the recliner chair, straightening up the small pillow attached to the headrest. Harry slips his arms around Louis’ waist and drops his head over his shoulder so that his face is inevitably too close, his eyes looming large in his face like two bright green balls of bubble-gum.

“C’mon Lou,” Harry says, his bottom lip dropping as he squeezes Louis and rubs his cheek up against his shoulder, “my tattoo guy is out of town. I need you.”

Louis grits his teeth to stop himself from leaning back into Harry or meeting his intense gaze.

“What are you doing Harold?”

Louis eyes Harry’s fists that are bunched up and resting against his hips, holding him tight.

“I’m super tactile with my friends,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his face up and down on Louis as if to emphasise his point, “and you look soft Lou.”

Harry’s skin is so soft on Louis’ shoulder, those damn springy curls gently brushing Louis’ neck with each movement. Louis shucks him off and turns to face him, leaning back against the chair.

“Harry, how many fucking times do I have to tell you that we can’t be friends? That it’s not feasible for us? How are you not hearing me?”

Harry looks a little hurt as he steps back and knocks over a tub of Louis’ supplies in the process. Louis sighs his annoyance as Harry drops to his hands and knees, gathering things in his arms and quickly dropping them back in the tub as if his life depends on getting them back in. Louis joins him but when he sees Harry’s reddened face, he stills completely and reaches across to touch his wrist.

“Harry, are you crying?” he asks gently.

Harry drops the rest of the supplies in the tub and then stands, shoving it back onto the stand before turning and trying to hurry away without a word. He gets to the door before Louis catches his hand, spinning him around and pushing him up against the wall. Louis presses his body up against Harry’s to keep him from moving away. Their foreheads brush and their feet line up, toe to toe and Harry’s green eyes still look wet with tears but they’re so wide and wholly focused on Louis now as Louis’ hands cup his jaw.

“Don’t run away,” Louis breathes, just the slightest bit affected by Harry’s proximity, “just tell me I’m an arse love. I know I am.”

“No,” Harry murmurs but his whole body is rigid, his eyelashes still wet, “no you’re not an arse. I just…I came by a few days ago. I mean, I was walking Hugh Grant,” Louis’ eyebrows furrow and Harry giggles, which inevitably makes Louis’ mouth twitch with fondness, “yeah, I walk him sometimes. He growls at me but I keep telling him he’s in the best shape of his life.”

Louis giggles this time and Harry looks positively delighted, his eyes tracing the curve of Louis’ lips like he can’t believe the noise that just spilled out from between them.

“Anyway…I was walking him up here and I, I saw you in here,” Harry admits.

Louis’ forehead wrinkles and his thumbs press into Harry’s jaw line.

“And you didn’t come in?”

Harry looks lost again.

“I knew you didn’t want to see me. I just-today…Jamie, my tattoo artist, _is_ actually out of town and I thought-“

Louis is stroking the boy’s locked jaw. He wants that wounded look in Harry’s eyes to disappear. This hipster was made for sweet smiles and strangely deep giggles.

“I’ll do it,” he says swiftly, “I’ll do your tattoo.”

Harry’s dimples reappear and his eyes melt all over the place like Louis’ just confessed to secretly adoring his kitten head scarf. Louis steps away from him with upraised hands.

“Now, now,” he warns, “stop with the goofy smiling. We’re not friends…this is just a favour. I took pity on you and your sad, little face Haz.”

Harry doesn’t look in the least bit discouraged and he doesn’t give up the goofy smile. Louis’ getting a complex just from looking at someone so effortlessly beautiful. He turns away and walks back to the recliner, starting to arrange his needles on the surgeon-like tray beside it.

When he looks back at the seat, Harry is standing in front of it watching him with a slightly less turned up smile. He doesn’t look any less joyful. His smile is lazier and less twitchy…like he’s been laying in the sun for too long and has gone all high and happy from too much exposure. Louis’ hands are on Harry’s love handles before he really even contemplates what he’s doing.

“Need you to move for me love. Just need to fix up the recliner for you,” he says without looking at Harry, simply shifting him to the side when Harry remains motionless.

He fixes up the bed a little, dusting off the recliner and lowering it slightly but then Harry’s hand is on his shoulder.

“Lou.”

Louis turns to find Harry looking awfully tormented with a bitten lip and dark eyes.

“Are you sure? Because if Ducan-I mean I can go-I don’t want to-“

Louis’ hands have gone totally haywire. They reach out and squeeze Harry’s shoulders.

“I am going to give you a tattoo hipster so shut it. Now, what are we doing for you today?” Louis asks, a twist of a smile on his mouth as his thumbs skate over the ridges atop Harry’s shoulder.

Harry looks a little dazed but he pulls a printed image from the pocket of his extraordinarily tight trousers and hands it over. Louis gets distracted just smiling at the huge black butterfly, thinking it’s just like Harry to want a bloody butterfly printed on his body. He’s more like a six year old than any full grown man Louis’ ever met. Louis has a strange fluttering in his chest and the slight inclination to plant tiny pink bows in those angelic curls, maybe buy Harry as many damn furry cockroaches as his heart desires.

“You’re-“

Louis looks up and there Harry is with his shirt on the floor beside him and his thumbs tucked in his belt loops. He looks slightly shy despite the fact that Louis’ seen him without a shirt before. Louis can’t imagine why. Then again, why is he himself so affected? He’s just as, if not more hypnotised, by the sight of Harry’s milky skin this time. His eyes are drawn back to that indecent V line that looks like it was bloody chiselled from stone and the pale pink nipples upon Harry’s chest that are just begging to be worked over by the tip of somebody’s tongue.

Louis breathes out through his nose. He’s tattooed attractive guys before. He’s not once felt this winded but hey, if he can tattoo the arse of a man who’d confessed he was a butt double for the stars, he can handle Harry Styles without a damn shirt on.

“Absurd,” he finishes, his voice having lost all its power.

“Um,” Harry’s voice is thick and slow as ever as he runs his hand over his six pack. Louis wonders whether he can stop the saliva rapidly filling his mouth from dribbling down his chin. “I want it here. Just on my stomach I guess.”

“Gright,” Louis says with forced cheer.

Harry raises an eyebrow, lifting himself up onto the recliner and lying back against it. His smile curls his lips as his eyes follow Louis.

“I meant to say great…but then I went to say right. So it came out as gright,” Louis sighs, accepting the fact that he’s a complete embarrassment.

“Gright,” Harry repeats with a chuckle, “gright is my new favourite word.”

Louis leans over Harry and pushes his shirt up slowly. With a wash cloth dipped in rubbing alcohol, he gently starts wiping it across Harry’s stomach to cleanse the area. He looks up at Harry as he does, shaking his head even as his mouth defies him.

“You are so lame Harold.”

“Bet you say that to all the boys,” Harry says, fluttering his pretty eyelashes.

Louis snorts.

He spends the next few minutes preparing the stencil and then soaping up Harry’s skin before transferring the stencil to Harry’s stomach.

“Okay babe,” Louis says, messing around with the materials on his stand, “I just need to get my ink and the needle set up.”

When he’s finishes doing that, he looks back to find Harry has raised himself up, having lifted his head and shoulders off the recliner to settle Louis with an amused but openly curious look.

“What?”

“You called me babe,” Harry announces and then drops back down.

Louis can see Harry’s mouth jumping. It’s no big deal. Louis calls most of his clients by one pet name or another. It puts them at ease. Still, he feels a need to deny it.

“I did not!”

“Whatever you say Lou,” Harry sings.

“I’m going to put the ointment on,” Louis says, steel in his voice.

His tone says, “Don’t fucking tease me.” Harry does anyway. Of course.

“Sure babe.”

Louis is sure to squirt the cold liquid straight onto Harry’s stomach. He grins evilly as Harry’s stomach muscles jump. He’s not at all physically affected by that sight. When he lays his palms down on Harry’s stomach and begins to rub the liquid in, preparing Harry’s skin for the needle, the muscles jump beneath his hands again and Harry’s eyelids droop a little.

“You have soft hands,” he says quietly, “tiny and soft.”

He sounds kind of mesmerised by it. It makes Louis’ tummy feel tight so he flicks Harry’s right nipple as punishment. Only Harry sucks in a loud breath as his nipple pebbles and goes completely hard. _Oh fuck_. Louis pretends he doesn’t notice.

“They’re not tiny. They’re probably the same size as yours.”

Harry snorts and holds his hand up.

“C’mere.”

Louis rolls his eyes but he leans forward and touches his hand against Harry’s. Harry’s hand is much larger than Louis’ and he folds his fingers over Louis’, trapping his hand there, to emphasise his point. He chuckles when Louis lets out an agitated breath and wriggles his fingers until Harry releases him.

“Whatever. You’re hands are like huge monster hands. It doesn’t mean mine are tiny.”

Harry snickers. Louis ignores him. He gets the needle ready and then pauses before touching it to Harry’s skin. He reaches his hand up and buries it in Harry’s hair.

“You ready for this kitten prince? Or do you need me to call Niall to come hold your hand?”

Louis means it to be vaguely insulting but Harry is too lost in the sensation of a hand in his hair. He makes a noise low in his throat and lifts his head up, chasing Louis’ fingers. Louis hesitates but then his fingers move on their own, massaging Harry’s scalp quite rigorously.

Louis smiles, struck dumb by the way Harry’s eyelashes flutter even when his eyes are closed, his throat making these soft sounds that are halfway between a moan and a growl. Louis should stop. He shouldn’t have started. He swallows loudly and pulls away, forgetting to give Harry any warning before he’s pressing the needle against his skin. However Harry’s hiss is short lived. When Louis starts to trace the next line, Harry merely gazes at him. Louis can feel his eyes but he focuses on his job, talking slowly and steadily so he doesn’t let himself lose focus.

“Can you tell me why you picked this particular tattoo?”

“You really want to know?”

Harry sounds pleased.

“I ask everybody,” Louis says truthfully, glad he’s not witnessing Harry’s reaction to that titbit, “I like to collect people’s stories.”

“So do I,” Harry says thoughtfully, “I just do it with a camera instead of a needle.”

Louis nods his agreement.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“The butterfly is me,” Harry says without hesitation.

Louis’ face creases a little as he tries to figure out this new puzzle.

“Because of your parents?” he guesses, “because you want to fly away from that life?”

Harry chuckles.

“I didn’t know you were so clichéd Lou. No, it’s not about them. Not really. It’s-have you ever seen a butterfly take off from a plant?”

Louis shakes his head, pressing one hand against Harry’s sternum as he presses the needle into Harry’s skin again.

“Well…it’s majestic. They beat their wings against the petals so hard for those few moments they’re not airborne until they finally muster enough strength to launch themselves up and away. They’ve lead this limited, lacklustre life as a caterpillar, capable of so little and then…then they evolve and suddenly they’re vibrant and colourful. Suddenly they can free themselves and go places. They have choices. These butterflies… every moment of their short lived lives is hard. Like I said, lifting off is no cake walk…but once they’re free, they’re free for good and even if it doesn’t last, even if they get snapped up by some hungry animal, for those few moments that they’re airborne, they feel their true calling. They are….at home, in a way they couldn’t be before.”

Louis’ heart has slowed as he listened and now he’s left trying to find the right words. He’s never wanted to study someone quite like this. To know what makes them tick. He wants to know the man beneath the curls, the man behind the heartbreaker smile. It frightens him half to death.

“That ah, that sounds like it might have a little to do with your parents?” Louis suggests, “I mean, the life they forced you into anyway. Sounds to me like you’re saying you could only ever be a caterpillar in that world. You could never achieve lift off.”

Louis’ hand is brushing Harry’s sternum, rubbing back and forth to heat the slightly chilled skin as he works on the tattoo site below. Harry reaches down, clasping his fingers. He squeezes them.

“I don’t think it’s about them anymore though. That’s my point. They’re on the fringes of my mind, the fringes of my life. I want this to be a symbol of what I’m doing now. Building my own life that they someday won’t have any part of and no say in. I mean…if the GQ thing goes well, I could do more shoots like that. Earn more money but without entering into this world of falseness and fabrication that it so typical of fashion photography. I could still be me. I guess I wanted the butterfly as a reminder.”

 “A reminder of what Haz?”

Louis’ voice holds all of his curiosity but none of the awe and admiration blooming inside his chest.

“That if I beat my wings hard enough, I can muster up enough power to lift myself up and away. That I can live a full life even if it’s just for one moment, even if it’s taken from me as soon as I grasp it. Lou,” Harry’s voice is rough and dry sounding like he’s trying not to get too emotional. Louis’ just petting the patch of skin between his pecs and stomach to soothe him now, “I just want to be-“

“Infinite?” Louis interjects.

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice sounds like it’s scraping at the back of his throat, “exactly.”

Louis’ needle is still where he’s stopped at the base of the wing.

“You are Harry. I promise you love,” Louis looks up into shining green eyes and he knows it’s true, that this persistent boy with a heart of molten gold has no barriers but those he creates in his own mind, “you’re the most infinite person I’ve ever met.”

Louis doesn’t think it makes much sense and he feels idiotic the moment the words leave his mouth. He doesn’t know Harry…but yet…somehow he does. He knows Harry’s fragility when confronted with his mother. He knows Harry’s softness, his pleas and his genuine compassion for Louis and for others. He knows that Harry has a passion for what he sees inside the lens and beyond it, like no one Louis has ever known. If Harry really wants something, he’ll have it. Louis knows that much.

Harry doesn’t think it’s stupid. His green eyes well up with tears and he hiccups slightly.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Louis coughs, trying to sound casual even though his heart has expanded to fill the entirety of his rib cage, pressing between the gaps like the only thing keeping it inside is those very bones.

They don’t talk for a while as Louis continues filling in detail but then he remembers what he’d been thinking about. The one burning question he’s had about Harry since he met his god awful mother and truly lovely sister.

“Haz…can I ask you something? You can say no if it’s too personal because really, it’s none of my business and I’m sorry to like-“

“Course you can.”

“Oh. Okay. Um…I was just curious. Gem…I mean Gemma,” Louis blushes, “she said-I mean, why you haven’t dated anyone in a while? It’s just strange you know…I mean not strange but I, I can’t imagine you’re not spoiled for choice. Like, there must be guys lining up at your door just to take you out.”

There’s silence for a moment but then Harry’s voice oozes out of him, all deep and husky.

“I never really wanted anyone. Not after I left home.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was 20 when I left. I’d been with guys. A lot of guys actually but it was all hushed up of course. My mum pretended not to see them but if my dad ever caught me, there’s no doubt in my mind that he would have kicked them and me out. He knew I was gay… my mum told him but he liked to pretend too. If he’d known it was going on in his house, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up the sham. He liked to pretend I was straight and I let him. I played by the rules.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“Don’t sound so sad on my behalf. I appreciate it but it’s not like I’m still stuck there. I’m infinite, remember? Said so yourself. Anyway, when I left, I thought how nice it would be to date someone and not have it be a secret. To kiss them whenever I wanted and more importantly _wherever_ I wanted. To not have loving another man be some shameful thing that I needed to hide just in case someone’s sensibilities might be offended.”

“But?“

“But then I realised I didn’t want to depend on somebody. I didn’t want to tie myself to just anyone and feel stuck like I had with my parents. I was afraid that getting involved with someone would be like having my wings clipped and I didn’t want to become so tied up with someone else, that I didn’t have anything of my own. I was content. I didn’t want to become embroiled in a relationship just to lose all my strength in the process. I didn’t want to end up like-“

“Like me,” Louis finishes, his tone hard.

Harry lifts half his body up suddenly and moves all of his limbs and his stomach in the process. Louis pushes him back down with a glare.

“Could have really fucked your tat up, you insufferable git.”

“I didn’t mean you,” is all Harry says, his tone completely forlorn, “I just meant…that I didn’t want to risk winding up trapped. If I was going to hand over any part of myself or my life, it was going to be with someone I trusted not to keep me bound. I knew I couldn’t date anybody unless they were really…well unless I truly wanted them.”

Louis is cynical and disbelieving.

“And you never wanted anybody these past few years? Not one?”

“Well not like that, no. I’m not abstaining from sex or anything,” Harry says, sounding like the suggestion alone is preposterous.

“I can’t imagine you would,” Louis agrees.

What a waste it would be if you were, he intones in his head.

…….

Louis presses against the corners of the gauze bandage and then gently pats the whole thing down with his fingers.

“I can’t thank you enough Louis,” Harry says, hand reaching out to brush Louis’ fringe away from where it’s fallen in his eyes.

He’s sitting up on Louis’ bench that runs around the sides of the tattooing room with Louis standing between his legs. Louis stares at him for a beat too long and then bends down until his eyes are level with his new tattoo.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

Louis presses on the corners of the bandage again and then gently presses his open mouth against the centre in a soft kiss. The wetness of his mouth seeps through a little and he hears Harry’s breath hitch.

“There,” he murmurs.

Harry’s breath is shaky as he stares at Louis with all the intensity of a serial killer and yet all the softness of a new mum looking down at her newborn baby.

“What was that?” Harry asks.

“I kissed it better,” Louis says with a whimsical smile and a shrug that he hopes enhances his casual stance, “my mum used to do it. Every time she had to patch me up, she’d kiss the plaster.”

Harry grabs him by the side of the face, his fingers melting into the sides his hair. Louis’ heart hammers in his chest and he feels like he’s seasick. For a moment, there’s such a charge in the air that all the hairs on his body stand on end. Harry just drags his thumb down the centre of Louis cheek with a serene kind of smile. Louis steps away.

“You should get going,” he says.

Harry nods, looking cheerful enough despite the fact that nothing’s changed between him and Louis. Or has it? He gives Louis one last lingering look and then stalks out the room.

“Bye Lou,” he calls as the door chimes announcing his exit, “thanks for a gright afternoon.”

Louis can’t stop his mouth from twisting up and soaring higher and higher as he drives home from work half an hour later.

…….

“Hey babe, how was work?” Duncan asks, opening his arms up for Louis.

Louis settles into his lap and buries his face in Duncan’s neck to avoid looking in his eyes. He feels like a shit boyfriend. What kind of man goes around kissing other men on their stomachs when he’s got a boyfriend? Well…really it was just one man and technically Louis’ mouth didn’t even touch Harry’s skin but still, he’s got to own up to his mistakes. While he can’t tell Duncan, he knows his error and he accepts that there can be no more time spent with the absurd hipster he might just be the slightest bit fond of. While guilt flares in his chest, he knows his heart belongs to Duncan as it has for the last three years.

He’s never been unfaithful, even when his tears formed a small puddle in the crevice of his pillow and he wondered if Duncan really loved him at all, he’s never even considered it. This might have been a setback, a slight lapse in judgement on his part but it’s got nothing to do with the way he feels. Duncan need not know how much of an absolute idiot his boyfriend is.

“Uneventful,” Louis mumbles into the curve of his shoulder, kissing slowly along the blade.

Duncan sighs and tightens his grip on Louis’ waist.

“Bedroom?” Louis asks hopefully.

“Yes,” Duncan agrees, “bedroom.”

…..

When Duncan comes past an hour or so later, Louis is in his sweats curled up on the couch, admiring his finished product. There’s some open canisters of paint on the coffee table with newspaper beneath in case of spillages and a vast array of brushes that Louis had sourced from various European stores.

Back then, he’d had just a seed of idea, one that he hadn’t allowed to fully bloom because it was so fragile. Yet even then, the draw of the paint brush and artistry itself had been so strong. He’d spent so much time poring over his sketches of each tourist attraction, trying to find the faults in order to better himself constantly. Now painting is more of a pastime than anything but swirling a brush through those paints and swiping it across the page in gentle strokes still gives him an alleviating sense of peace like nothing else.

“What are you doing?” Duncan asks, bending down to drop a kiss to Louis’ head.

Louis tilts his head back to look at him and frowns his confusion. Duncan’s hair is all gelled up and he’s got tighter jeans on than usual. He’s swapped a hoodie for a too tight leather jacket and he smells like too much cologne. Louis coughs.

“I’m just admiring my work. I didn’t know how well it’d turn out. It’s for the twins’ room. Mum asked me to do some kind of painting for it and this is what I decided on. This is the girl baby,” Louis informs him, pointing at a little duckling with long eyelashes and a lilac bow on its head, “and this is the boy baby,” he directs Duncan’s attention to the larger duck who’s wrapped himself around his sister, a fierce look on his face that’s belied only by his big, beautiful, blue eyes. “I had to go all the way out to the edge of London to get the paint for it. Mum wanted a specific kind of lilac for the bow and they only had the one canister left so it was really lucky. I used nearly the whole thing up just doing test patches.”

“It looks beautiful,” Duncan says, kissing Louis’ mouth upside down.

His green eyes are barely there with Louis and Louis hates that he can feel the words about to fall from Duncan’s mouth. More so, he hates the fact that he feels so uneasy about it.

“I’ve actually got to go in to work for a bit. Won’t be long. I’ll be back for dinner, promise.”

Louis tries to keep the strain out of his voice when he tugs on the side of Duncan’s jeans.

“And you need your good jeans for that?”

Duncan’s whole face shows consternation as his eyes narrow and he looks at Louis with something sharp marring his expression. 

“You’re accusing me again,” he concludes with ire, “because _I’m_ the one who can’t fucking be trusted. _I’m_ not the one who wants to fuck every man who will have me. _I’m_ not the one who fucking begs for it.”

Louis feels hot all over as the humiliation and the hurt swallows him whole. His eyes feel glassy and sore but he denies himself release, his voice so tiny in the silence of the room.

“I don’t beg-“

“You may as well,’ Duncan cuts him off, expression livid.

Louis curls in on himself on the couch, placing the picture of the ducklings on the couch next to him and closing his eyes softly. He tries to be anywhere but here. He tries to transport himself somewhere else where he feels safe and calm. He wants only to escape the look of constant disappointment in Duncan’s eyes. The only place that comes to mind is….not a place. It’s a person. _Shit fuck_. When Louis open his eyes again, Duncan grips his jaw and sucks his mouth into a savage kiss, fucking his tongue into Louis’ mouth and pressing his nails into the side of Louis’ face.

“I’m going,” he announces, “and you can have your dinner without me. No dessert,” Duncan’s eyes rest on his stomach, “it’s not like you need it.”

Louis sucks in his stomach automatically, his breath halting as he tries to find a way to expel the pain rapidly making a crater inside his chest. Then he figures, why should he expel it? If he continues to feel this way, maybe he’ll finally stop screwing up and find a way to be the person Duncan wants him to be.

…..

Hours later, Louis has just emerged from the bedroom after a lengthy nap and as he strolls into the living room, he finds Duncan stretched out on the couch, beer in hand.

“Hi,” Louis greets him tentatively.

“Hi,” Duncan grunts back, his eyes glued to the TV.

Louis will take what he can get.

“Would you like some leftover dinner?”

“Sure.”

Louis trudges into the kitchen and starts fixing Duncan a plate of the pasta that he had defrosted from the freezer earlier, Duncan having made it a few days before.  It’s not like Louis could make it himself. It’s rotating in the microwave as Louis deposits the container that he’d discovered had a crack in it, in the bin. He returns to the microwave to take the steaming plate out and is just about to deliver it to Duncan when something clicks. He pauses, his mouth ajar and then rests the burning plate on the counter.

He walks quickly back to the bin, sliding it out from its spot inside the cupboard and sure enough, his eyes weren’t deceiving him. There, resting just beneath the broken, sauce stained, container is his artwork for the twins, crumpled and torn with a discoloured beer stain spanning the entirety of the duck’s faces. The lilac bow is a distasteful dark brown colour. Louis’ stomach twists painfully. He grabs a fork and the plate from the bench and marches into the living room. It clatters loudly when he places it on the coffee table.

“Did you-did you put my painting for the twins in the bin?” Louis asks, faltering just slightly, “It has beer all over it.”

Duncan is already tucking into his dinner. He barely glances at Louis.

“Oh yeah. I would have told you but you were asleep.”

Louis works to keep himself in check.

“How did that…how did that happen?”

Duncan’s eyes finally meet his and he looks completely bewildered by the pain in Louis’ expression.

“I spilled some beer. It’s no big deal right? It’s not like you can’t make another one.”

“I can’t,” Louis says, his voice rasping, “Because I don’t have any more of that lilac paint, remember? Mum picked it out special because when she had me, the nursery was that colour. She said that when she and Dad painted it a different colour, I used to scream bloody murder at night. I can’t…that store is the only place that sells that particular kind.”

Duncan is barely listening. His eyes are glossy and completely vacant.

“It’s fine,” Louis croaks because Duncan’s turned back to the TV and is shoving forkfuls of pasta in his mouth, “I’ll just tell mum it was me and that it was an accident.”

Louis walks through the flat to the bathroom and sheds his clothes, tears starting to mar his vision as the wound in his chest gapes open. He flicks the fan on and then steps into the shower, twisting the taps until the water is scalding hot against his skin.

He puts the shampoo in his hand and stars to massage it into his hair. That's when it gets too much. He suddenly wishes Duncan were the type of boyfriend who would come in here and say sorry, washing Louis' hair for him and mouthing at that sensitive spot on his neck. He wishes he had someone to take care of him when he's falling apart. 

 

It's not that Duncan wrecked his painting for his baby brother and sister. It's not that he chucked it in the bin. It's not even the fact that he didn't have the sense to tell Louis when it happened. It's how oblivious he was about the way it would upset Louis. It was the way he couldn't give Louis his full attention for two minutes and simply say sorry. 

 

Louis knows he's pathetic, that it's stupid to get upset over something so simple. Still before he knows it, he's curled up in the corner of the shower, letting the sobs wrack his body, his breath hitching in between as the stream of hot water runs down between his shoulder blades. He feels stupid but a voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Harry says that the way he feels can't be wrong and that it's okay to hurt. It's okay to be hurt. Yet right now now Louis' alone, without Harry and he can't afford to hurt because there's nobody here to make it okay or kiss it better. 

 

So when Louis gets out of the shower, he pulls on his hugest jumper, his comfiest pyjama pants and a soft beanie and hugs his own chest before walking back out to the living area. He settles himself in Duncan’s lap and Duncan’s arms go around him, holding him there. It’s not enough. Duncan’s so close right now, his lips pressed to Louis’ hair and his distinct smell filling Louis’ nose but his eyes are only on the TV and he doesn’t register the sadness in Louis. Maybe he just doesn’t really care.

 

Louis thinks of Harry. His heavy gaze with eyes that seem to see every inch of Louis’ skin and the emotions stirring beneath. It’s uncomfortable to realise that his next door neighbour, this person he’s known little more than a few weeks, knows him more deeply. While Duncan’s been there for three years of ups and downs, Harry knows his soul. He awakens it. Louis shudders at that thought which finally draws Duncan’s attention away from the TV. He hugs Louis closer, thinking he must be cold. It’s not enough. It’s all Duncan knows how to give.

 

Louis hears the sounds of some soft music through the wall and he aches to know what song Harry is playing. What kind of music does Harry like? Hipster music most probably but Louis needs to know. He wipes a curled hand across the hollow of his eye to wipe away the wetness and then kisses Duncan’s jaw before standing and retreating to his room.

 

……

 

Harry’s smile is one of contentment as he turns up the music on his TV, dancing around his living room as he pretends that he’s not replaying the last couple of hours in his head. Well…one in particular. He has a brand spanking new tattoo and he and Louis are…not friends but, they’d had a moment, or several. Harry has hope for them yet. His phone buzzes against his hip and his lips are dancing in time with the music flowing through the room as he reads the message on his screen.

 

Louis: **What are you listening to?**

 

Harry: _You’re texting me …._

Louis: **And ?**

Harry: _Nothing….it’s Barbie girl by aqua._

Louis: **Honestly you are absurd. Also, the worst hipster I know.**

Harry: _I wanted a Barbie camper van instead of a monster truck when I was little. My parents bought me the biggest, manliest monster truck they could find._

 

Louis: **Course you did. And stop, you’re breaking my heart. You should have had all the camper vans you wanted Haz.**

Harry: _It is what it is_

Louis: **You’re not funny Harold**

Harry: _I’m charming though right ? .xx_

Louis doesn’t reply so Harry chooses to take that as agreement, slipping his fingers up the underside of his top and stroking across the bandage in the spot where Louis had kissed him, a small but stunning smile playing over the set of his lips.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extended break! Sickness + uni = a lack of progress on my part. 
> 
> Just a quick reminder that Louis gave Harry a butterfly tattoo and that Harry wanted a barbie camper van when he was little but wasn't allowed. 
> 
> Also, for the songs, I have included the entire lyrics but I've put in bold the parts that should be read because the rest is just repetitions of the chorus and the like but feel free to read it all..and to listen to the songs :) Oh and I'm aware that the second song isn't a hipster or alternative kind of song but despite his taste in fashion and jewelry, this version of Harry likes all kinds of music :)
> 
> Let me know what you think/how you feel! People who talk to me inspire me to write and basically make me happy as Larry (prior to 2015) so please comment :) xx

Harry: _Come to karaoke tonight ? .xx_

Louis: **Are you out of your mind Harold? I shouldn’t even be texting you.**

 

Harold: _Pleeeeease Lou :(_

Louis: **Not possible Haz x**

 

Harold: _Zayn’s bringing Liam. You could bring Duncan too. Surely that’s not too much to ask of him?_

Harold: _I’m not trying to insult him or you. Please don’t ignore me. Just…what if you asked him to come and then like, ran into us there? Like, a coincidence ;)_

Harold: _Lou?_

 

……

 

“Why?” Duncan asks as he loosens his silk blue tie from around his neck and lets it sink to the floor, “you hate singing in public. Remember that cruise? I asked you to do a duet with me and you were practically cowering on the floor.”

 

“I was not. I was half drunk and had been speaking at twice my usual volume all night. If I was going to sing, I wanted to do it right,” Louis crows indignantly from his spot on the end of the bed.

 

“Why? Because you’d be such a hit?”

 

Duncan sneers at him in the mirror and Louis feels a frown form around the corners of his lips. When Duncan asked him to move in with him, he had said he wanted to wake up to Louis singing try a little tenderness every single morning.

 

Back then, it had seemed like every new part of Louis was a pleasant surprise and just more to love. When did it all turn so sour? Louis hates to admit that things aren’t tinted in a rosy hue as they once were but he knows that things have changed. Duncan has. He’s not in love with Louis’ quirks, not the slightest bit tickled by his passions, so much so that it begs the question; is he even in love with Louis? Why does it always seem to be Louis who has to pay for the way Duncan’s life has progressed? As though he were at fault for the fact that Duncan’s stuck in a stationery, stagnant job with no immediate prospects on the horizon.

 

The possessiveness had started after the onset of the black moods and aggressive tendencies. The first time Duncan backed Louis into a corner of a room and yelled obscenities at him, Louis had stayed with his mum for two weeks. He hadn’t given her any explanation. As much as Jay had begged and pleaded, he’d told her squat, knowing exactly what kind of response she’d have if she knew. He was certain she’d never let her baby be treated that way.

 

Things are different now. Louis’ mum has always been like a best friend and after one of the worst fights Duncan and he had ever had, Louis had broken down and confessed to her on the phone. Like everybody else, she’d reacted with horror, anger and had persisted in constantly asking Louis when he was going to decide that enough was enough. She had wanted to talk to Duncan of course. “I just want to ask him something boo bear. Please put him on the phone.”

 

 Louis knew better and has limited all contact between the two to the best of his ability. Birthdays and Christmases really. Sometimes not even that. Duncan didn’t seem to mind and still doesn’t because the more time went on, the more he begrudged the fact that Louis is so dedicated to his family; so attached to his home and his life that he has waiting there every time he returns.

Louis has been forced to keep the two spheres separate to protect his boyfriend from feeling threatened and to prevent his mum from seeing the true extent of Duncan’s behaviour. He’s managed to convince her that much of it has abated but mothers are renowned for their killer instincts and when she’s near, Louis can feel the concern emanating off her skin. She doesn’t believe he’s happy and sometimes he’s hard pressed to convince her that, that isn’t exactly the truth.

 

When Louis came back home from his mum’s that first time he truly fought with Duncan, Duncan’s sweetness had returned. Yet for only for so long could Duncan seem to maintain it before something inside gave way and Louis became his verbal punching bag again. After a few more trips to Doncaster and an aura of silence around their flat, Duncan started with the possessive, jealous demands. He was perhaps afraid of losing Louis and everything they had together. The problem was that he only seemed capable of holding on with a vice-like grip that didn’t allow Louis any wiggle room.

 

The ironic thing was that the rarer Duncan’s gentleness became and the more vicious he acted, the more entrapped Louis felt and the less inclined he was to leave. He had a kind of idealistic hope inside that he couldn’t relinquish and when he saw those flashes of something tender in Duncan, that troublesome hope flared up and lit up everything so brightly it blocked out everything else. The memories of those solar flare moments kept Louis from confronting the hurt that Duncan had caused. He was desperate to hang onto what remained of the person he used to know.

 

“Because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself,” Louis corrects him in a tiny voice.

 

Duncan turns around and kneels before the bed, cupping Louis’ cheeks with his palms.

 

“Karaoke? Really?”

Louis works not to show his eagerness. It’s been a long time since Duncan’s even thought about asking what Louis would like to do or where he’d like to go. It must have been a slow day at work or something. Duncan had looked significantly more relaxed when he walked in the door, the first two buttons loose on his shirt and a lethargic kind of grin on his face, as though the mere thought of a Friday night with Louis had mollified his bad mood. It’s a sappy thought but Louis has subscribed to it anyway because he wants to believe that there’s still a part of Duncan that’s head over heels for him. It’s showing itself now… isn’t it?

 

“Really. If you’ll come with me. I wouldn’t go without you obviously.”

 

Louis’ Adam’s apple bobs nervously in his throat as he waits for the verdict. Duncan’s green eyes shift across his face like laser beams and Louis feels like his lie by omission must be written on his forehead in dark red marker.

 

_I’ve been texting Harry and I gave him a tattoo and he’ll be there tonight with three other lads that I’m also friends with_

“Okay,” Duncan says and Louis’ chest falls in relief, “but cover up.”

Duncan pulls on the side of Louis’ open singlet to emphasise his point. Like a scandalised parent. Louis shakes away the thought, pressing his hands against Duncan’s neck and touching their lips together.

 

“I will. Thank you.”

 

……

 

“Holy fuck. No way,” Liam swears, his mouth hanging open as his eyes hook into something over Harry’s shoulder.

 

“What?” Zayn and Harry ask at the same time.

 

Zayn’s eyes flicker to the same spot a beat later and his mouth falls open slightly too.

  
“Huh,” is all he says before chuckling at Liam’s expression.

 

“Are either of you going to tell us what’s going on or…” Harry leads.

 

Niall has already turned fully around to appreciate whatever it is. A smirk stretches over his face as he squeezes Harry’s shoulder.

 

“You’re a fucking miracle worker H.”

 

Harry’s had it. He lets out an agitated sigh before swivelling on his stool to look back at the entrance to the karaoke bar. Illuminated by the glowing red sign, standing with his small hand tucked into Duncan’s, is Louis. _Louis_.

 

He’s draped in a blue flannel shirt that’s miles too big and is buttoned right to the very top. Harry knows it must be Duncan’s and he has to swallow down the lump in his throat that threatens to cut off his air supply. Thankfully his brain provides him with a slightly less torturous image. Louis wearing a different flannel top, unbuttoned and gaping open to reveal his chest and the flawless expanse of tanned skin leading down to his navel.

 

Harry wouldn’t dress Louis as Duncan has. Like a doll. Like Louis has no say in the matter. He wouldn’t button him up all the way, too possessive to handle another man’s eyes on his skin. Not when it so clearly conflicts with what Louis wants. He’d be proud to have a boyfriend so beautiful who would perhaps volunteer to wear his shirt. Like a badge of honour rather than as an act of loyalty or sacrifice, a bid for a heart that Louis hasn’t yet lost but has never quite won either.

 

Harry suspects that a heart like Duncan’s doesn’t truly beat for anybody but himself. He loves Louis in much the same way that small children love their first soft toy. At first they could not think of anything more precious but they soon tire of it, perhaps encountering something they covet even more or simply losing interest. Yet try to take it from them, try to pass it onto another sibling and they only hold it tighter against their chest. They hold on for the sake of ownership and for the sake of something being theirs and only theirs.

 

Harry’s cumbersome thoughts cannot take away from the fact that Louis is _here_ , at karaoke, despite the fact that he’d made it seem like quite an impossible, preposterous proposition on Harry’s part. Sure, Harry had pleaded with Louis, hoping some latent urge to get out and about would spark a revolution in his mind but truly, he’d never predicted this. He hadn’t thought Louis would find a way to ask for something he wanted and more so, that Duncan would entertain the thought of giving it to him.

 

 Harry supposes that this must be why Louis’ still on board a train that’s clearly derailed. Duncan isn’t all monstrous cruelty and aggression. He’s capable of gestures that spell kindness and make Louis think there’s hope for them yet. Never mind that the kindness seems to be a fleeting part of their relationship which Louis never quite has time to grasp before it slips away again.

 

Harry can’t imagine that Louis would ever knowingly enter into a toxic, domineering partnership. No, it must have gone south at some point and Louis had already fallen too far down the rabbit hole to climb back out again. Every flash of compassion must have reignited his hope that maybe someday things would return to the way they were. The lump is back in Harry’s throat as Louis and Duncan work their way through the tables and Louis’ eyes meet his, blinking slowly back at him as if he were caught in the tailspin of Harry’s inner reflections.

 

Harry wants to tell him how rare it is for somebody like that to remember the person they used to, to want that again and then find the will to change. He wants to tell Louis that waiting around for that is a waste of what could be the most magnificent life. It’s not his place. It’s not his life. Louis isn’t looking to him for guidance and Harry is loath to provide it when the most likely outcome is that he’ll simply push Louis further away. Harry is yet to prove the kind of friend he could be. He can’t risk endangering this precarious sense of trust that he feels he might have garnered from Louis of late. Enough trust that Louis hasn’t stopped texting him since they’d swapped texts after the application of Harry’s tattoo.

 

Just then, Duncan’s head snaps up as if he can sense their presence. His eyes lock with Harry’s and then flit down to his transparent black shirt. There’s a challenge in his expression that makes Harry’s muscles tighten. His body is preparing to leap into action, his eyes are glued to the way Duncan’s hand is tightening around Louis’, the veins popping out obscenely because of how tightly he’s clutching the little hand inside his. Louis’ letting himself be dragged along, his eyes on Duncan’s face as fear registers and he winces just slightly from the pressure. Harry’s never felt such a strong urge to get between two people before.

 

He’s never been in a bar fight before because despite having a penchant for keeping the peace, he tends to leave the resolution of violent outbreaks to bouncers; people who aren’t repulsed by the idea of enacting violence on others. Harry truly is. Repulsed by it, that is. When he was five, he pushed a kid in the sand pit at school because the kid was making fun of Gemma’s haircut. Then he cried more than the kid he pushed and ended up having to go home early. He hasn’t changed much since then. Only, he feels his hand tighten around his cocktail glass and the veins in his forehead pulse as he fights back the urge to forcibly remove Duncan’s hand from Louis’. _Tiny_ Louis whose fingers are inevitably being crushed.

 

Harry assumes Louis must have some kind of explanation or plan if he decided to ask Duncan to accompany him here. He wouldn’t go into this without a way of excusing himself. Harry can’t help but worry as the not-so-happy couple come to a stop before them and Louis briefly looks at him with terror shaping his eyes.

 

"What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
Good, Harry affirms, blame me. Just please don't take it out on Louis.  
  
"Here for the circus obviously," Harry says with a quirk in his mouth.  
  
Niall snorts a laugh but Louis' glare is sharp, a reprimand bursting forth. Harry can't help himself. If Louis is not going to sass his boyfriend for being a jerk, Harry will do it for him. Like an unconventional kind of white knight.  
  
"Hilarious," Duncan snaps, his lips pushing against each other, perhaps in an attempt to keep from snarling, "do you know anything about this?"  
  
He's looking at Louis now and Louis looks panicked for a moment, his chest rising in time with his quick, shallow breaths. Harry's lungs seem to syncopate his breathing to Louis', as if he were the one in peril. _If only._  
  
Then, Louis gathers himself. He smiles and though the skin around his eyes is left un-scrunched, his mouth is hooked up around his ears. He knits his fingers in the hair around the base of Duncan's neck and pulls him into a long kiss. Harry can't see the point of contact but he imagines their tongues sliding together and rolling around one another in a messy tangle. It makes him feel quite sick.

 

 He doesn't realise how deeply he's frowning until he feels Niall squeeze his elbow in comfort. He wants to protest, wants so very much to tell Niall that he doesn't need such pity. He's perfectly okay with the fact that the pale pink lips that had gently pressed against his bandage are now pressed against another pair. A pair of lips that belong to an absolute arse.  
  
That's all it is. It has to be. Harry's instincts to protect. There's not all that much he can do here if Louis won't let him be part of his life. Harry’s sole reason for being frustrated lies in the fact that he’s watching Louis try to atone for the simple truth that he has a life outside of Duncan. That sick feeling, the one with a twinge of an ache that feels a lot like hurt? It can't be what Niall thinks it is.

 

Harry is not falling for somebody else's boyfriend. He's not falling for eyes that watch him with this hint of fond surprise, as if everything he does is somehow entirely unexpected and yet wholly predictable because it's in his nature. Eyes that seem to sigh his name with equal amounts of exasperation and endearment. _Harry_. He's not falling for a smile that's tampered down and bitten back, the pressure of holding it in always filling his face with such concentrated crinkles. He's not falling for tinkling laughter and the soft pressure of lips against his chest tattoo. He's _not_.

 

When Louis breaks away from the kiss, he pushes a flannel clothed hand against the side of Duncan’s neck and looks up at him in earnest. Harry’s heart is keening at the sight. Louis looks so damn vulnerable but in the worst way possible. Vulnerable because he can’t expose the strength inside him and can’t seem to locate it at all in this moment. Not when he’s faced with someone who thinks so little of him. Someone that he loves, literally beyond all reason.

 

“Baby, do you really think I would do that? I had no idea. It’s not a problem, is it?”

 

“How does Liam know _him_?” Duncan growls, flinging his hand out in Harry’s direction.

 

Louis’ eyes widen but thankfully Liam cuts in.

 

“Good to see you Duncan,” Liam says with a perfunctory tone, his usually kind brown eyes turning sharp as he surveys Louis’ good for nothing boyfriend, “I just happen to know Harry and the other lads from the gym. Louis had no idea, honestly. Niall, Zayn, this is Louis Tomlinson.”

 

Liam gestures to the two boys. Harry presumes he uses Louis’ full name to distance himself from the lad. It’s a bit much, the fact that he has to emphasise that his relationship with Louis is strictly professional.

 

Zayn apparently, thinks it’s entirely ridiculous. He rolls his eyes when Duncan’s eyes shift away from him and on to Niall, assessing his value as a threat. Harry warns Zayn against it with a pointed look.

 

Apparently Duncan doesn’t have much in the way of instinct because he finally accepts the fabricated explanation, submitting with a subtle nod in Liam’s direction before he turns back to Louis.

 

“We should find a table,” he says, his meaning implicit.

 

A table away from these men I don’t trust near you, it says. Louis looks purely relieved and Harry finds himself breathing more easily because of it. He’s indecently excited to hear what Louis might sing and to hear just how he might sing it. Harry has a feeling that it will be a lot like the photo shoot, that he might just come alive beneath the stage light.

 

“It was nice meeting you guys,” Louis says, his eyes resting on Zayn and Niall for a moment as he takes Duncan’s hand, “and good to see you Liam.”

 

Duncan’s expression tightens a little at this and now Harry has to bite down hard on his tongue just to keep from rolling his eyes as Zayn had. Finally, Louis looks back to him and Harry’s head spins wildly at the soft smile on his baby pink lips.

 

“Bye.”

 

It’s a quiet murmur that crawls from the edge of his lips, down his chin and across the space between them both, inching its way up Harry’s body to nestle itself in the confines of his chest.

 

“Bye,” he rasps embarrassingly.

 

Duncan’s eyes flick back to him again, so calculated. Judging him once more. They drop down to his transparent shirt and then stick there, glued to his stomach. Harry’s stomach muscles tighten with unease in response and when he looks up at Louis, there’s that reprimand again.

 

Louis had texted him and told him that the bandage was fine to come off days ago but Harry had kept it on, insisting he felt like he needed the extra protection. Truth be told, he was rather reluctant to part with it after Louis had kissed him so. He’d taken it off for showers off course and cleaned the skin beneath, inspecting the intricate and impressive detail of the tattoo that Louis had done for him.

 

Still, every time he’d gone to dispose of the bandage, he’d thought of that moment when Louis’ thumbs had pushed against him, making indents in his skin and sending a zap through his system in the process. He’d thought of how Louis had offered the tranquil wetness of his mouth and how it had felt to experience the light push of those lips against his abdominals. Harry remembered how it had set his brain spinning out of control and sent some kind of reactive electric current racing across the surface of his skin.

 

Now, Harry feels like idiocy defined. Duncan’s eyes fly back up to his and he takes a step forward, looking murderous. Louis cautions him with a hand to his wrist but he may as well not even be there for all that Duncan cares. His sole focus is Harry and man if looks could kill. Duncan’s mouth is twitching with it, his eyes sparking with fury. He stands with his fists balled against his hips, his thick arms standing out in rolls of muscle. Harry can tell he’s trying to make himself look bigger but he really doesn’t need to because he’s quite enormous. Harry still doesn’t cower.

 

“Problem?” He asks with a smile.

 

“You’ve got a bandage. Tattoo. He gave you a tattoo didn’t he?” Duncan demands, quite visibly seething.

 

“I don’t think-“

 

Duncan silences Zayn’s calm protest with a malevolent glare.

 

“Show me,” Duncan orders, some measure of control in his expression even though Harry can see the veins standing out on his tightly balled fists.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Louis says, his hand still resting against Duncan’s wrist.

 

When Duncan twists his head to look at Louis, his expression effectively kills any resistance. Louis’ hand comes up to pull his fringe from his eyes and Harry spots the tiny tremor in it. He also spies the apology before it spills from Louis’ lips. Duncan ignores it and turns back to Harry, gesturing for him to do as he was told.

 

Harry figures the quickest way for this to be over is just to act as if this isn’t completely ludicrous. He pulls his shirt up quickly and then peels away the soft, slightly worn bandage. Although not before trailing his thumb down the centre as though caressing it. His eyes flick very briefly to Louis’ as he does and he spies the startled jump of Louis’ Adam’s apple in his throat.

 

Harry reveals his tattoo, bringing his thumb down across the butterfly’s midsection with a certain reverence in the curve of his smile. Louis gave him a butterfly on his stomach. Fitting really. Harry hadn’t thought of it previously. Not until he looked up just now and found Louis’ eyes following the path of his thumb as it slowly trailed down from his navel to the start of his trousers. Harry’s stomach swirls. Louis isn’t concerned with studying Duncan’s response. In this moment, filled with angry tension that rolls off his boyfriend in waves, Louis’ concerned with studying _Harry_.

 

“It wasn’t Louis,” Harry says with a half-smile, meeting Duncan’s suspicion head on, “I mean, do you really think your boyfriend would do such a shoddy job?”

 

There’s a slight quirk in Louis’ smile and Harry knows it’s only a small success but it feels like honey sliding down his sore throat, soothing that dissatisfied part of him that just wishes Louis would make a run for it. The part of him that longs to hold Louis’ hand and whisper encouragements to him as he flees.

 

“Who did it?” Duncan questions, his eyes giving nothing away.

 

“Jamie Spencer. Edmond Street. It’s a small little shop right on the edge of an alleyway. You’ve probably driven past it at some point, I’m sure. If you like, I’ll give you Jamie’s number and you can check with him,” Harry says with complete seriousness, hoping Duncan won’t call his bluff.

 

He can practically feel the other lads shaking with laughter and Louis shaking with fear. He ignores it all, focusing on the challenge within Duncan’s eyes that slowly starts to fade. There’s still that measure of caution and that special aura of distrust reserved for anyone that so much as looks at Louis for a beat too long but there’s no fight left. Duncan doesn’t like to be made to look like an idiot and he knows that if he continues, there’s every chance that he’ll only come out looking the fool. More so than he already has.

 

“No,” Duncan’s sharp jaw juts out defensively, “I’m fine thank you.”

 

Harry grins and then sticks the bandage back on, pulling his shirt down gently over the top of it. When he looks up, Louis’ eyes shift purposely down to his stomach and he rolls them, a hint of exasperation in the tiny smile that drifts around the ends of his mouth.

 

The moment is ruined when Louis turns to Duncan and pushes up onto his toes, whispering something in Duncan’s ear that makes the prat’s eyes glow. Neither of them says anything more as Duncan tows Louis to the toilets, their hands intertwined and feet moving at rapid speed. It’s only when they reach the brick wall that extends just enough to cover the entrance of the toilet door that Louis’ eyes stretch back across the room and meet Harry’s.

 

Louis doesn’t want to. Harry knows that much. He can see that Louis doesn’t want to use his body this way but he clearly feels he has no choice. Perhaps he doesn’t.  At least not when he’s still so unwilling to leave. He’s in love with a monster of a person who doesn’t respond to affection or feel the need to dole out any himself. He’s in love with someone who can only respond to sex and the absolute assurance that Louis belongs to him and only him. For Louis there is no other way because he can’t imagine loving anybody else.

 

There’s a cool kind of sadness in Louis’ eyes as he hangs there for a moment before finally being tugged around the corner by Duncan. It’s the kind of sadness that people seem to have in their expression when they’ve dealt with so much of the same hurt that it’s no longer able to evoke the same level of response. They continue to hurt but in a semi-detached way, as if the things that used to torture them are happening to somebody else and are outside of their control. When people get to that point, they let the hurt tear at them until all that exists of them are the tiny, shredded up pieces of who they used to be. Pieces that aren’t so easily put back together.

 

….

 

“On your knees.”

 

Louis’ knees are already aching at the mere thought of the cold, hard tiled floor.

 

“Can’t I just sit on the seat? Please,” he asks, holding his breath as he waits for retaliation.

 

Duncan doesn’t respond, just pushes him down to the ground with narrowed green eyes. Heavy pants emanate from his mouth as he wets his lips and lets his gaze drop to Louis’ mouth. Louis’ knees hit the floor and he looks up at Duncan with a plea in his expression. He knows what he has to do of course. He whispered the words in Duncan’s ear just to get him away from Harry and the other guys.

 

Still now he’s here on his knees, his eyes are watering and his throat is straining as he remembers other occasions like this. Times when any compassion still living inside Duncan seems to evaporate into thin air and this lustful, animalistic like rage replaces it. In these moments, Louis doesn’t feel like Duncan perceives him as human, someone with their own needs and capacity to hurt. Someone worth looking after. In these moments, he only exists as a mechanism for fulfilling someone’s desire. Nothing more.

 

Slowly it has begun to degrade him. Louis has never felt as worthless as he does when Duncan uses him this way. It doesn’t feel like Duncan really wants him. Not in the way he needs to be wanted. It isn’t love for Louis that simmers in the heat of a burning orgasm. It’s the lust associated with control. It’s the precision and adept use of his mouth only.

 

That isn’t to say that sex between them _never_ feels powered by love but these days, there are more of these quick, violent sessions than there are the other kind. Duncan is always working out a kink and maybe Louis should feel honoured that he is the answer to that unspoken question of how to make things right. Maybe he should feel honoured that Duncan has this burning need to make Louis his, over and over and over again. Sometimes he does. A little. When he puts every effort into it, he can sense something beyond that aggression. Something real and perhaps softer. However it’s only becoming harder to see through the pain to glimpse what may lay beyond. Sometimes Louis does wonder if there is anything left there besides a desire to own him and wreck his body.

 

Duncan tilts his hips slightly toward Louis’ face, his breath coming even faster as the bulge of his hardening cock pushes against the zipper.

 

“Well,” he says with impatience.

 

Louis gets to it, his fingers flying up to pull down the zip followed by Duncan’s trousers and briefs. Once free of its constraints, his hardening cock bobs up and knocks against Louis’ cheek, demanding attention. Louis’ still fiddling with Duncan’s briefs, three quarters of the way down his legs when Duncan pulls on the shortest hairs around the side of his face to tilt his head up. Louis’ eyes prick with pain.

 

“Forget the fucking pants.”

 

Louis tries not to pull his hair from Duncan’s grip. He knows how much Duncan hates it when he tries to take control. Instead he grips Duncan’s cock around the base and then leans forward to take the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip as he tries to ignore the way Duncan’s squeezing the back of his neck and constricting his throat.

 

“Hurry up,” he instructs and Louis immediately envelops the rest of his cock in his mouth, tightening his lips as he tries to draw back up from the base.

 

Duncan’s not impressed. He growls and squeezes Louis’ neck tighter to hold him there, fucking his hips against Louis’ chin and forcing his dick further down Louis’ throat. Louis whines around it as his vision blurs with involuntary tears and his lungs protest the lack of oxygen. With every thrust, Duncan’s cock nudges the back of Louis’ throat, triggering his gag reflex. This only seems to elevate Duncan’s arousal, spurring him on. He doesn’t pull out.

 

“Don’t you ever fucking look at that twat,” Duncan thrusts so deep that he cuts off Louis’ airway completely for a moment, “like you fucking want to,” thrust, “suck his cock,” thrust, “again.”

 

Louis hadn’t looked at him like that. Harry is…Harry. He’s fit and kind. He does something intense with his eyes that makes Louis’ head feel light and fluffy but Louis had never planned on being unfaithful. Had never even considered it. He didn’t look at Harry that way… like he wanted to do _that_. He knows he didn’t…but Duncan is pounding away at his throat and all he can feel is weak. Pathetic.

 

If he could just prove himself in one way or another, maybe his knees wouldn’t be aching, his throat wouldn’t be straining and his eyes wouldn’t be stinging for all their worth. Maybe Duncan wouldn’t be looking at him with lust edged in darkness as his hips stutter and he finally spills down Louis’ throat with a guttural moan. Louis pulls off with a cough, a new layer of tears coating his face as oxygen fills his lungs and he feels the weight of what just happened. He was practically suffocating and Duncan couldn’t have cared less.

 

“I need to clean up. Go get us some drinks,” Duncan orders him, already turning toward the roll of toilet paper and away from Louis, without so much as an appreciative kiss.

 

Louis feels broken and empty inside, like pieces of him are slowly shattering and the jagged remains are piercing the inside of his skin. All he can do is nod mutely and quietly leave the stall, being sure to brush away the last of his tears as he makes his way out to the bar.

 

He’s just ordered two pints of beer when Harry comes up beside him, leaning back against the edge of the bar and peering at Louis with far too much knowledge in his eyes. It almost makes Louis wonder whether his tear trails are etched into the curves of his face. Perhaps the burn of his throat is somehow visible from the outside.

 

“Hi,” is all Harry says but in the gentlest, softest tone Louis’ heard him use yet.

 

Harry knows. He knows exactly what happened. Louis realises belatedly that it’s not like he’d done much to cover what they’d been about to go do. Perhaps Harry thinks less of him now, the same way Louis thinks less of himself. Now Harry knows there’s only one way he can get through to Duncan.

 

“Hi,” Louis repeats back, caution in his eyes as his voice scrapes painfully.

 

Harry’s eyes widen and suddenly his fingers are cupping Louis’ shoulder and squeezing, swapping out Louis’ momentary discomfort for a new sensation. One that eases the burn. One that’s like a salve being rubbed into the sore spot at the base of his throat. It’s just a touch. Why does it feel so revolutionary?

“Lou, jeez…are you-“

“I’m fine,” Louis says, silencing Harry with a firm look as the bartender slides the drinks across to him.

 

Harry frowns and then tilts his head down at the drinks.

 

“You should have some warm water and a bit of lemon,” he advises, rubbing a thumb down the slope of Louis’ shoulder.

 

“Don’t patronise me,” Louis says cuttingly, trying not to let his eyes linger on Harry’s pecs pressing up against the transparent, completely indecent shirt, “I don’t need you to help me look after my voice, thanks. It’s a karaoke bar, not fucking Madison Square Garden.”

 

Harry looks a little taken aback at first, his mouth caught half open and his eyes widening until they start to look like green saucers in his face. He looks so childlike and confused. Confused and…hurt. Louis’ tongue darts over his lips nervously. He hadn’t meant to be a total arse.

 

Harry appears to catch on because his look softens. He moves past Louis to get back to his table but pauses just briefly by his side. He brings his hand across, cupping Louis’ hip on the opposite side and pulling him in at the waist.

 

“Not trying to look after the voice,” Harry whispers, “just trying to look after you.”

 

As soon as Harry’s hand leaves Louis’ body, the door to the toilet flies open and Louis jumps as Duncan emerges. When Duncan reaches him, he scarcely seems to notice the flush crawling its way up Louis’ neck as he chugs half his beer without a single glance in Louis’ direction.

 

“I’m going to sing next,” Louis chokes out without thinking.

 

Duncan burps and then flutters his fingers in Louis’ direction as if to say, “Do what you like.” Louis’ heart shrinks in his chest and when he marches his way up to the band, he finds himself requesting the relevant song without really thinking too much about the consequences. In this moment, he just wants to be heard by the one person who never seems to be able to do just that. To listen.

 

“You’ll watch right?” Louis asks Duncan just before he leaves for the stage.

 

Duncan’s eyes settle on something over his shoulder. Harry’s table. Harry himself probably.

 

“Yes,” he vows, suddenly looking extraordinarily interested in everything Louis has to say.

 

He grips Louis by the shoulder, digging his fingers into the spot where Harry had stroked him earlier and pulls him into a savage kiss, his tongue thrusting deep into Louis’ mouth. Louis’ mouth opens up instinctively and he presses into the kiss, matching Duncan stroke for stroke until Duncan pushes him away with a smirk.

 

“Good luck babe,” he says, patting Louis’ bum.

 

Louis flashes him a small grin and turns toward the stage, ignoring the trail of fire he can feel burning its way across to him from the other side of the room. That damn stare. His skin heats like a furnace beneath it.

 

Once up on the stage, Louis’ fingers shake a little around the microphone as he grips it, feeling awfully exposed. His eyes rest briefly on Harry, whose long legs are spread open on the stool, his large hands splayed over his knees. There’s one particularly spiky curl that flicks up against his cheek and Louis widens his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground in response. He has to resist the out of place and uncomfortable desire to jump off the stage, walk over there and stand in the gap between Harry’s knees, fixing the rebellious strand of hair and maybe even winding it around his fingers a little. _Fuck._

                                                                                       

Louis lets his eyes fix on Duncan instead. His boyfriend Duncan. The love of his life….who is currently glancing back and forth between the lit up screen of his phone and Louis with distraction. Louis closes his eyes against the image and starts to sing, vowing not to open them until he feels slightly surer of himself.

 

When he opens his mouth, his voice rasps and his throat burns but he delights in it a little. It matches the burn in his chest. The one caused by careless face fucking and a distracted boyfriend who seems none too interested in the way Louis feels. It aligns with the ache that lingers in his bones because Harry, his seemingly innocuous neighbour, is something of an extraordinary person who somehow knows just what Louis needs. Somehow he sees more of Louis and relaxes Louis more than Duncan ever seems to do.

 

 ** _Are you a man who loves and cherishes_**  
 **and cares for me?**  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?

  
**Are you a guard in a prison, maximum security?**  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?

  
**Do we stay home all the time cause you want me to yourself?**  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?

  
**Or am I locked away**  
had a feeling that I'd find someone else  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?

When Louis opens his eyes for the chorus, Duncan’s eyes are directed solely at his phone and there’s a mischievous quirk in his smile that makes Louis feel slightly nauseous. He knows that quirk. That hint of flirtation. It used to belong to him. Louis’ eyes tingle at the edges but he refocuses, allowing his eyes to trail across the room to one spot where they’re met with total attention and no wavering of any sort.

 

Harry’s eyes suck the words from his soul. The pain, the longing and every single night Louis’ spent crying himself to sleep and wishing things could be different. All Harry does is gaze at him but Louis feels it in the soles of his feet. He feels it in the thrum of his heart. Harry’s fingers may as well be threaded through his hair, his lips pressed to the curve of his ear while he whispers sweet, soft words of comfort and encouragement. That’s how contradictorily penetrative and soothing those evergreen eyes are. The rasp in Louis’ voice is more emotion than soreness.  
  
**Well, I don't like  
Living under your spotlight  
Just because you think  
I might, find somebody worthy  
Well, I don't like  
Living under your spotlight  
Baby, if you treat me right  
You won't have to worry  
**  
**Is this a relationship**  
 **Fulfilling your needs**  
 **As well as mine?**  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?

  
**Or is this just my sentence**  
**Am I doing time?**  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?

  
**If this is love**  
 **Real, real love**  
 **Then I'm staying no doubt**  
 **But if I'm just love’s prisoner**

**Then I’m busting out**

Louis’ eyes flick over to Duncan whose phone is pressed to his ear. His eyes find Louis’ and he points at his phone and then jabs his thumb at the exit. Louis’ eyes flutter closed once more so he doesn’t have to watch Duncan leave. Duncan, who really hasn’t heard a word Louis’ singing. Louis tries to bite down on the disappointment but he’s never felt so insignificant. He’s never felt so resigned to being unhappy.

  
Is that true? Is that true?  
Is that true?  
  
Well, I don't like  
Living under your spotlight  
Just because you think  
I might, find somebody worthy  
Well, I don't like  
Living under your spotlight  
Baby, if you treat me right  
You won't have to worry

Louis’ hands are by his side, trembling slightly as he hangs his head over the microphone and sings his heart out. He reconnects his eyes with Harry’s. Harry, who makes him feel calm. Harry, who alleviates that troubling sense of unease in his stomach and then messes Louis’ insides up in his own special way. Harry, who just might be the best thing to have happened to Louis of late. Harry, whose eyes look a little watery and whose mouth turns down at the corners because he saw Duncan leave and knows how much Louis must be hurting. His lips move in time with Louis’, singing the words with him. Louis can feel his chest breaking open because here is this man who barely knows him but somehow seems to feel Louis’ pain as his own. Duncan’s not even here to witness his pain.

  
Oh, you oughta be ashamed of yourself  
What the hell do you think you're doing  
Loving me, loving me so wrong?  
Baby, all I do is try to show you  
That you're my one and only guy  
No matter who may come along  
Open your eyes  
Cause baby, I don't like-

Louis’ voice breaks over the word ‘like’ and he watches as Harry’s hand lifts off his knee, reaching out slightly. It’s that instant inclination to comfort that sees Louis’ tears come bubbling over and his voice cut off. Suddenly he’s shaking like a leaf and Harry is on his feet, crossing the room and jumping up onto the stage in ten seconds flat. He pulls Louis away from the microphone and into his arms and Louis is too far gone to protest. He loses himself in Harry’s chest, clinging on to the silky shirt for dear life as Harry winds his long arms around him and squeezes him tight.

 

“You were brilliant Lou,” he whispers and my god, is he stroking Louis’ hair? “So good love. I’m so sorry. He should be so sorry. C’mere.”

Harry leads him down off the stage and over to the other lads. He cups Louis’ hips, his thumbs stroking across the back of Louis’ rib cage as he gently pushes Louis down onto his stool.

 

“Lou, mate…are you okay?” Liam asks, his face all twisted up with a frown.

 

Louis tries to smile through his tears but he feels it’s rather ineffective as he’s still hiccupping slightly. Harry’s hand is on his lower back, moving in soft, soothing circles as he stands just behind. Louis wants to tell him to stop because Duncan could come back at any moment and completely get the wrong idea. He wants to tell him to stop because his insides are getting all jangled up, his heart caught in a state of chaos as he tries extraordinarily hard not to absorb his sweet sincerity or at least not to feel it filling up the empty spaces of his chest. Yet Louis’ tears are slowing slightly and every time Harry stretches his thumb out to stroke the dip in his back, his eyelids lower a little and he gets a little pulse of warmth that radiates out from his navel to his extremities. His toes curl inside his TOMS.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Louis says which is as honest as he can be in his current state.

 

Niall edges his drink over to Louis, lifting Louis’ hand up for him and wrapping it around the glass with a sympathetic smile.

 

“Drink up mate,” he advises.

 

Louis humours him with a soft, grateful smile and then ends up choking on the strong taste of the liqueur which scalds his burning throat. As he coughs it up, Harry’s hand gravitates up to squeeze the side of his waist and he leans over, inspecting Louis’ face from close up.

 

“Are you okay love?” He asks, brushing away the stray droplets of liqueur that have dripped down from the corner of Louis’ mouth.

 

Harry blushes along with Louis, as though regretting using such an intimate and soft tone while touching Louis the way he is. Perhaps, more so, regretting doing it in front of the other lads. Louis nods silently and wills the heat to fade from his cheeks. Harry does his own awkward cough but drops his hand back to Louis’, turning to scold Niall.

 

“What the hell did you give him? He’s got a sore throat.”

 

Niall’s eyes bug out and Louis can only assume it’s something strong. He is Irish.

 

“Sorry mate,” Niall says, pulling the drink back to his chest and cuddling it close like somehow it might have been offended by Louis’ coughing it up.

 

“Idiot,” Zayn comments with a shake of his head.

 

He rolls his eyes at Niall but reaches out to ruffle the blonde scruff atop his head anyway.

 

“It’s alright, really,” Louis assures him, kind of soothed by the way this co-dependent group of boys are all touching each other in some small way.

 

Liam’s head has dropped to Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn’s combing his fingers through Niall’s hair with a concentrated frown, evidently trying to untangle the mess of knots that have amassed there. Niall’s foot is nudging Louis’ under the table and Harry’s hand is still squeezing his side. For a moment, Louis’ sadness beings to ebb and he feels a great serenity wash over him. Like if he just stays here with this group of boys, everything else will sort itself out around him. He feels safe with them. They’re the calm centre, the eye of the storm that’s brewing around him.

 

Then Harry’s hand falls away and he leans over to whisper in Louis’ ear.

 

“Just go with me on this please.”

Louis doesn’t have time to question what he means. Duncan’s shouldering his way in front of Harry to get to Louis’ side and he’s looking at Louis with all the rage and betrayal that Louis has come to expect in moments like these. Only this time Louis’ heart doesn’t beat slower with guilt and his eyes refuse to well up with solemn tears because fuck it, for once maybe he can admit that he didn’t do anything wrong. He wanted one night with Duncan and his friends in the same room and he couldn’t even have that. Duncan couldn’t even give him his attention span for the entirety of one damn song.

 

“Why are you sitting with them?”

 

Duncan’s voice is dark and menacing and he speaks as though the other lads weren’t sitting right there listening in.

 

“You were busy,” Louis snaps, only a slight quaver in his voice.

 

Harry’s eyes are burning an intense shade of jade green over Duncan’s shoulder and Louis gets so lost in the messages they’re trying to send that he doesn’t even think to intervene when Harry grips Duncan’s shoulder and spins him around. Louis knows just how much strength it takes to move Duncan’s thick body but Harry is still so much ganglier than Duncan. Louis’ horrified because Duncan has snapped for much less.

 

“You right mate?” Duncan bellows and Louis can’t see his expression but he can hear the angry snarl in his tone.

 

“I think you should leave,” Harry says quietly, his tone resolute.

 

Louis’ quiet gasp catches Harry’s attention and his eyes drift across, holding Louis with their determined glint. Then they they stutter back to Duncan who spits his response.

 

“You’re not fucking telling me what to do, are you?”

 

Duncan takes a step closer to Harry, their shoulders brushing and he’s only slightly taller than Harry but his whole body is wider and poised to fight. Ready to destroy. Duncan has never been one to hesitate or hold back and Louis doesn’t fancy Harry’s chances. Fear and a sickening sense of foreboding bubbles beneath Louis’ skin at the thought of a bloodied Harry Styles lying at his feet. _No._

 

“ _Please.”_

 

Louis’ voice is needling and breathless as he squeezes Duncan’s shoulder for emphasis.

 

Duncan turns to face him with incredulity.

 

“Please what?”

 

Louis looks to Harry who’s eyeing him with such feeling and open admiration that the words fall out of Louis’ mouth despite having not made his mind up. They trickle out despite the fact that he’s scared shitless about what might happen.  
  
“Please leave. I’m not coming home tonight.”

For a second, Louis thinks Duncan will take a swing at him. His skin tightens over the sharp bones jutting out of his face and his nostrils flare menacingly. Yet all he does is blink slowly and deliberately at Louis, responding with gritted teeth.

 

“Why? Cause I had to take a fucking phone call? Are you that pathetic?”

 

Louis watches Harry’s face morph into that of an angry kitten about to scratch the shit out of someone. He’s all dark eyebrows pulled down low over swirling, stormy green eyes, pouty lips that still look soft even in what Louis can only assume is his form of ferocity. He doesn’t say a word in Louis’ defence but he doesn’t look far from it. In fact Louis can see his chest rising and falling quickly as though he’s so worked up he can scarcely breathe around his own anger.

 

That alone keeps Louis from apologising. It keeps him from giving in and helps him recall the kind of person he used to be. The kind of person who wouldn’t be made to feel a certain way. The kind of person who wouldn’t stand down from a challenge. Back then, nobody could get inside his head. Once upon a time, Louis had been too strong for even the most worthy of adversaries.

 

“I’ll stay with mum,” Louis tells Duncan, ignoring his question and trying to calm the panicked fluttering of his heart, “and I’ll-I’ll be back tomorrow I think.”

 

“You think?” Duncan echoes, mockery in his pale green eyes, as if the whole conversation is a giant joke.

 

Louis wonders if he’s making a fool out of himself by trying to assert his own feelings.

 

“I really think it’s time you leave,” Harry advises.

 

Louis watches Duncan’s jaw lock into place and decides it’s time to intervene but it’s too late. Duncan spins around and twists Harry’s arm up behind his back, pushing him down onto the table hard, somehow without knocking over any of the various drinks around him. The table shudders slightly with the force of the impact and Harry’s surprised, doe-like eyes stare up at Louis from the centre.

 

Duncan pulls Harry’s arm higher up his back and Harry grunts his displeasure. Then just as Louis and the other boys instinctively lean forward, Duncan releases him with a loud, awful sounding laugh before taking his leave. Louis barely waits for the door of the bar to smack shut behind him before he’s wrenching Harry up and pushing him down into his chair, hands fluttering up over his arm.

 

“Oh my god, are you okay? Harry, I’m so sorry. Your arm-“

 

Harry smacks a hand over Louis’ mouth in an attempt to cut him off. Louis’ lips brush against his palm as he continues with the apology vomit but Harry just inclines his head, eyes expectant. Louis gives in with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, cutting off his own speech.

 

“Stop it Louis. I’m fine,” Harry says assuredly, guiding his hand across Louis face to press his thumb to the point just below Louis’ eye, the other four fingers cupping his cheek.

 

Harry’s hand is so soft and Louis doesn’t realise he’s leaning into it until he notices the raised eyebrows of the other three lads. He pulls back slightly and leans sideways against the table, his elbow missing the surface as he tries to plant his arm there.

 

Harry cackles. His whole body shakes slightly as his eyes turn translucent and he flashes his pearly white teeth. His nose scrunches up and he rocks on his chair and it’s so damn cute that Louis can’t be blamed for the fact that his hand automatically reaches across and finally fixes that spiky, wayward curl.

 

“Wasn’t that funny hipster,” Louis teases with a small smile.

 

Harry is still laughing but he catches the edge of his thumb between his teeth, shrugging slightly to excuse himself. His cheeks are flushed with humour and he looks like pure, delightful innocence. Nothing like the man who almost got clobbered on Louis’ behalf.

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis says with solemnity, looking at each of the boys before returning to Harry, “I’m sorry he did that. I’m just sorry he’s…like that. I just-“

 

“You don’t have to explain mate,” Zayn says with complete calm, totally unfazed by the whole show of violence.

 

“Or apologise,” Niall adds.

 

“But I-“

 

“Tommo, mate,” Liam pats his hand where it lies palm down on the table, “just listen for once. It’s not your fucking fault. He was the tosser. Not you and certainly not Harry and look, don’t you dare try to tell me that it was a one off cause I know better. Really Louis, I think you need to leave-“

 

“Liam,” Harry cuts in smoothly, pressing a hand into Louis’ back as he leans across the table towards the brown eyed lad, “I don’t think now is the time and I think…Lou knows what he’s doing.”

 

Louis hopes the gratitude shows in his eyes when he turns his gaze toward Harry. Liam sighs his defeat and then pulls Zayn to his feet.

 

“Take me home,” he murmurs, squeezing Zayn around the waist.

 

Zayn looks utterly besotted with him as he quickly shucks off his leather jacket and drapes it around Liam’s thin shirt, planting a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

 

“My pleasure.”

 

“Gross,” Louis moans.

 

“I want you to name your first baby Harry and the second, Louis,” Harry pipes up.

 

Zayn rolls his eyes and Louis allows himself a slightly muted laugh as he slides into Liam’s vacated seat. Harry’s head rolls to the side a bit as he regards Louis with softness, a smile slowly working its way from the centre of his mouth to the very edges.

 

“They owe us,” he stage whispers, a hand covering the side of his mouth.

 

Louis nods and turns his attention to Zayn and Liam who scarcely seem aware of the rest of the world. Zayn’s hand is cupping Liam’s elbow and Liam’s fingers are curled around Zayn’s hip, holding him close.

 

“We intend to collect,” Louis confirms.

 

“We’re leaving now,” Zayn sighs, feigning irritation.

 

Louis barely knows the guy but he can clearly see he’s blissed out, his fingers dancing over Liam’s leather clad arm.  Louis cannot even imagine how much Liam must be internally freaking out about this turn of events. He actually has a leather wearing, literally model perfect boyfriend who clearly adores him after no more than a few weeks. Turns out Liam’s complete lack of verbal skills around attractive men wasn’t incurable after all. Sappy as it seems to Louis, it’s evident that all Liam really needed was to meet the right guy. The guy who would be able to alleviate that imagined pressure in his mind. Louis can tell that Zayn is doing exactly that. He’s the right guy in every sense of that term.

 

“Bye love birds,” Louis and Harry say at the same time, their voices blending together seamlessly.

 

Louis chuckles and ducks his head, burying the tail end of his laugh in his palm.  When he looks up, Zayn and Liam are long gone and Harry’s eyes are searching his face. No, not searching. Discovering. They stick to certain places. The lines around Louis’ eyes. The corners of his lips. The fine dusting of hair along his chin. Louis’ breaths get shorter and shallower and neither of them breaks the silence. Neither of them disturbs the moment.

 

“That’d be my cue,” Niall announces, drawing his stool back loudly.

 

Harry’s and Louis’ shoulders jump at the same time.

 

“Night Nialler,” Harry says, sounding endearingly peaceful.

 

As though gazing at Louis is somehow akin to curling up beside a warm fire. Louis tries to ignore the sucker punch of emotion that comes with noticing Harry’s obvious reluctance to shift his eyes away from him.

 

“Good night,” Louis says stiffly, forcibly removing own eyes to smile dazedly at Niall.

 

Bad mistake. Niall is openly smirking at him, his eyebrows raised in high, amused arches. There’s a touch of knowing in his emboldened blue eyes that has Louis wanting to defend himself against an implication that hasn’t even been made aloud.

 

“Night,” Niall sing-songs, his grin lifting higher, his eyes drifting to Harry who is _still_ staring.

 

Then he quite quickly and quietly disappears. Damn presumptuous leprechaun.

 

“So,” Harry says and Louis’ eyes snap back to him with intrigue, “Do you want to hear _me_ sing Louis?”

 

Louis feels like a little child as he claps his hands together excitedly and nods his enthusiasm, bouncing on the stool just a little. It releases Harry’s unnervingly attractive dimples so Louis doesn’t feel too embarrassed. Harry nods back at him and then reaches across to grab his hand as he gets up. He squeezes that hand, his eyes burrowing under the surface of Louis’ skin to everything brewing underneath for just a moment. When he releases Louis’ hand, Louis’ fingers stretch out slightly as though straining to relocate that connection.

 

“Don’t move,” Harry says in a low tone, as though he were telling Louis one of his most precious secrets, the quiet heaviness of his gaze moving Louis more than he’d care to admit.

                                                                         

Louis bites down on a stupidly bright smile as Harry skips his way over to the band. Literally skips. This guy cannot be real. No way. He must be a figment of Louis’ imagination.

 

“Okay,” Harry says into the mic, “this song is one of my favourites but it’s also um, pretty pertinent tonight.”

 

His eyes find Louis’ in the crowd and Louis’ chest tightens. He looks even more beautiful with a spotlight shining down on him, illuminating the milky colour of his skin and the brilliant shine of his chocolate brown curls.

 

“Sometimes you just have to let people know that you’ll be there when they’re hurting. If they let you. Because you know, when you’ve never had that or you’ve never let yourself have that, it might be uncomfortable at first. When you’ve spent such a time denying yourself the compassion that people offer you, it can throw you off to even think about letting someone in, to even think about letting someone take care of you. But when you do, when you find it in yourself to forgive your inadequacies and to accept them for what they are, that person offering you a hand can be welcome.  And sometimes,” Harry directs a bashful smile down at his shiny silver boots, “letting them take care of you…it does as much for them as it does for you. This is I won’t let you go by James Morrison.”

_**When it's black,** _   
_**Take a little time to hold yourself,**_   
_**Take a little time to feel around,** _   
_**Before it's gone.** _

  
_**You won't let go, but you still keep on falling down.** _   
_**Remember how you saved me now,** _   
_**from all of my wrongs.** _

_**  
And if there's love just feel it,  
and if there's life we'll see it.  
This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah  
I won't let you go.  
  
Say those words, say those words like there's nothing left.  
Close your eyes and you might believe that there is some way out.  
Open up, open up your heart to me now.  
Let it all come pouring out,  
there’s nothing I can't take.  
**_  
_**And if there's love just feel it,**_  
 _ **And if there's life we'll see it.**_  
 _ **This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah**_  
 _ **I won't let you go.**_  
  
Won't let you go, won't let you go  
  
**_and if your sky is falling,_  
 _Just take my hand and hold it._  
 _You don't have to be alone, alone, yeah_  
 _I won't let you go._  
  
** Won't let you go, won't let you go  
  
_**and if you feel the fading of the light.**_  
 _ **And you're too weak to carry on the fight.**_  
 _ **And all your friends that you count on have disappeared.**_  
 __ **I'll be here, not gone, forever, holding on.**  
  
And if there's love just feel it,  
And if there's life we'll see it.  
This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah  
I won't let you go.  
  
Won't let you go, won't let you go  
Woah no  
  
And if your sky is falling,  
Just take my hand and hold it.  
You don't have to be alone, alone, yeah  
I won't let you go.  
  
Won't let you go, won't let you go  
Woah no, yeah  
  
I won't let you go, no I wont let,  
I won't let you go, no I wont let,  
I won't let you go, no I wont let you go.

_.._

 

“That was disgusting, you sappy little hipster.”

 

“Why are you hugging me then, you snarky, little tattoo artist?”

 

Louis can feel Harry’s smug grin against his shoulder and he won’t stand for it. He pushes Harry away with a purposeful glare.

 

“Pity hug,” he informs him.

 

Harry chuckles and opens his arms up, his eyes shining. It’s as though rivulets of green in every single shade have been woven together and then solidified just to create his particular eye colour. It’s a work of great artistry and Harry truly is the picture of endearing; standing there with his toes pointed slightly inward and this dopey grin fading in and out, so huge he can’t seem to maintain it.

 

“Pity me some more?” He asks with a wink.

 

Louis’ laughter rushes to the surface at the sight of this gigantic child. This muscled, long legged man-child who doesn’t wait for Louis’ consent before pulling him into a hug. He buries his face in Louis’ hair, messing it up completely and nuzzling his face up against it with a girlish giggle.

 

“Have I ever told you you’re absurd?”

 

Louis’ hand is curved around Harry’s jaw as he pulls away to inspect his expression. Harry’s eyes lower to his own and there’s still that twinkle in his eye; that mirth playing around the corners of his lips. He’s so beautiful like this and Louis has to remind himself just to breathe.

 

“Once or twice,” Harry admits.

 

Louis chuckles along with him.

 

“Lou,” Harry says suddenly, a pleading note in his tone.

 

Louis steps out of his arms with wariness in his look.

 

“What?”

 

“Would you please come home with me tonight?”

 

Louis’ breath gets stuck in his throat as panic turns his heartbeat erratic. Is this-?

  
“Oh no,” Harry clutches Louis’ shoulders, “not like that. Of course I didn’t mean-I just meant, what if you stayed the night with me….on the couch. Because like, I don’t think you should be driving to Doncaster so late. I’m sure your mum would agree with me.”

Louis hangs his head a little.

 

“You’re actually spot on.”

 

Harry laughs.

 

“So…”

 

“I,” Louis pauses looking up at Harry with a hint of a frown, “I-okay but just…we can’t-“

 

“Mention it. I know. Do you snore though? Because if you snore really loud and Duncan hears you-“

 

Louis hits him across the arm and Harry over exaggerates a wince, pretending to rub at the spot as he laughs outrageously loud at Louis’ disgruntled look.

 

“C’mon Lou, let’s get you home.”

 

…….

 

Harry is setting up a blanket and some pillows on the couch when he hears the soft sounds of Louis’ feet padding across the kitchen floor. When he turns around, Louis is standing in the entrance to the living room, fiddling with the buttons on his flannel shirt, his damp hair falling across his eyes and leaking droplets of water down his neck. The ends of the shirt gape away to reveal a tantalising triangle of soft looking, tanned skin that shimmers slightly with moisture left over from the shower.

 

Harry lets out a tiny gust of air as he imagines laying Louis out on his bed and having his way with that beautiful stomach. He imagines lining his thumbs up with the indents in Louis’ v lines and dropping kisses to his happy trail, swirling his tongue around his tiny, little belly button as Louis cups his hands over his mouth to contain a giggle. Harry has to shake away that particular train of thought.

 

“Lou, can you c’mere please,” Harry asks, tucking his hands behind his back like a waiter at a restaurant.

 

Louis’ eyebrow crooks up but he abandons his task in favour of walking toward Harry and seating himself atop the doona on the couch. Harry sits down beside him and grabs the towel that’s slung over his shoulder.

 

“You’re not very good at that,” Harry says, pointing his finger at Louis’ shirt.

 

Louis is even more confused now but when he looks down, he sighs, letting his shoulders drop in defeat. He rolls his eyes at himself. Harry chuckles.

 

“While most kids were learning to button their shirts, I was throwing tantrums over wearing socks.”

 

Harry chortles.

 

“Wearing socks is a problem for you, is it?” he raises an eyebrow, directing a meaningful look down at Louis’ sock clad feet.

 

Louis shrugs, a worn smile gracing his face.

 

“Duncan hates it when I go without socks. Says it’s unhygienic.”

 

“Hmm,” Harry hums and Louis looks rather nervous, eyes falling to his poorly buttoned shirt, as he sits there with his hands tucked in his lap and his feet crossed beneath him, “I see his point but you know,” Harry reaches out to tug on Louis’ big toe with an amused quirk of his lips, “I quite like the thought of you running around your mum’s house in Donny with your tiny feet slapping against the floorboards.”

 

Louis’ smile is quietly hopeful as he looks up at Harry from beneath his lashes, a sudden shyness to his look that makes him seem all the more softer; all the more irresistible.

 

“We had carpet actually,” he says quietly, his teeth just slipping out towards the end.

 

Harry’s laugh is a whisper of a sound. He’s unwilling to disturb this precarious peaceful moment unfolding between them.

 

“Here,” Harry says quietly, quickly undoing the entirety of Louis’ work on his shirt, “let me match the buttons up for you.”

 

He can feel Louis’ defiant, “don’t patronise me” glare, as he begins doing the buttons. However he’s focused on resisting the urge to slip his hands inside Louis’ shirt and lay his palms over Louis’ bare chest just to feel the heartbeat beneath.

 

“I don’t like you,” Louis says determinedly.

 

Only Harry’s seen enough by now to know that’s not true. Far from it. Louis is exactly the kind of person who has to be hit over the head several times before he’ll even think about admitting defeat. He’s not the type to give in to somebody. Not really. It’s why Harry finds it hard to fathom how he got to this point with Duncan. It must be destroying him completely to have to give up that side of himself. The side of himself that won’t so easily be victimised or bullied.

 

Duncan somehow got him where it hurts. Perhaps because Duncan was the first person Louis ever really let occupy a space inside his heart? To have the first person you ever loved and the first person you ever trusted hurt you that way, it would change you. It would explain why Louis clearly doesn’t believe in anything outside of his relationship and why he can’t see beyond his hurt to a better life. He’s never had so much as a taste of what a loving relationship could really be like.

 

“Good,” Harry nods his head, playing along, “because I need the pity hugs.”

 

Louis snorts. When Harry’s done buttoning the shirt, he starts on Louis’ sleeves, rolling them up to the crease inside his elbow. Louis’ watching him curiously but Harry refuses to meet his eyes, lest he be distracted by the way they change from one moment to the next. Unlike Harry’s, they don’t have one defunct setting, that is, scarily intense. Instead they evolve momentarily, reacting to Harry and the things he says with different variations of intensity. Sometimes they’re distant and evasive but just when Harry’s losing hope, the swirling blue stops moving for a moment and latches itself on to him. Like in that moment he’s the only thing that exists for Louis. It’s startling and stunning in equal measure and Harry has no clue what it means.

 

“What are you doing hipster?”

 

“This is Duncan’s right? It’s huge on you and I know your tiny hands probably get real cold,” Harry runs his hands back down Louis’ arms to clutch his fingers from beneath for a moment, “so you like them swathed in material…but when I make you eggs and bacon tomorrow, you won’t want your sleeves getting grease on them.”

When Harry is done rolling, he looks up and sees wonder in the small swell of Louis’ smile. It grows beneath his gaze.

 

“You really like looking after people that much, don’t you? Like some kind of curly haired fairy godmother.”

 

Harry shrugs, a laidback grin stretching his mouth. It might be true. He’s not totally opposed to a pair of sparkly wings and his own shiny wand.

                                                                                                                                                                                

“I like looking after people who can’t look after themselves. Or just people who….” Harry bites his lip, “just don’t know how to anymore.”

 

Louis is quiet. His eyes drop to his lap and he plays with his fingers, a thoughtful look crossing over his face as his downcast eyelids tighten slightly. Harry wants to know what’s going on in that turbulent mind of his but he doesn’t ask. Better to let Louis volunteer those things himself. 

 

Instead Harry picks up the towel and leans forward on his haunches so he towers over Louis a little while. He applies the towel to his hair and moves it back across his head, massaging a little while he dries. He looks down to find that Louis’ eyes have slipped closed and he’s rolling his head around to meet Harry’s hand, kind of like Hugh Grant does when he wants Harry to scratch a particular spot.

 

“All dry,” Harry says with a fair amount of tightness in his voice

 

Louis looks up at him with a question as Harry reluctantly pulls the towel away. Harry pretends not to see it.

 

“I should really get to bed,” he announces, standing up and throwing the towel over his own shoulder.

 

“Okay.”

 

Louis’ smile is sadness mixed in with wistfulness and suddenly those blue spheres of light are so transparent that Harry can see the lost little boy hiding just inside. It’s like watching a little version of Louis bursting into tears in the supermarket because he can’t find his mummy. It makes Harry’s heart muscle contract painfully in his chest. How can he leave him here like this? Looking so much like someone who needs to be cuddled but can’t bring himself to ask for it.

 

“Are you going to be-will you be alright….out here?” Harry tacks on at the end, losing his nerve when Louis’ eyebrows furrow.

 

Louis reaches out and knits their fingers together, swaying them slightly. His smile is whimsical, as though he’s lost in some kind of alternate reality where he doesn’t have to be averse to touching Harry. An alternate universe where touching Harry feels as natural as breathing.

 

“I’ll be fine. Just,” Louis’ head tilts up and his eyes reconnect with Harry’s, that rare intensity filling his expression with seriousness, “thank you Harold.”

 

Harry smiles and then swings their hands in the direction of the TV.

 

“If you want, you can watch TV for a bit. I’ve-I know you said you didn’t get a chance to watch the Brits. I recorded it. Red carpet too. You could watch that and there’s like, tea and chocolate biscuits in the kitchen if you want.”

 

Louis’ teeth split his smile.

 

“I should stay with you more often.”

 

_Please._

 

“Yeah.”

Harry’s voice sounds scratchy and weird so he slowly backs away, pausing just inside the entry to the kitchen.

 

“I mean it you know.”

 

Louis looks nonplussed.

 

“Mean what?”

 

“I won’t let you go.”

 

Louis’ smile dims a little and his hand freezes on the remote.

 

“ _Harry_ -“

 

“Night,” Harry says quickly.

 

He hightails it out of there before Louis can go and shatter his hopes and dreams by telling him that they’re still not friends.

 

……

 

Harry wakes sometime in the middle of the night needing to piss. When he gets up to do so, he hears the muted sounds of the television still going in the living room. After visiting the loo, he wanders out to check on Louis. Harry finds him tucked up against the side of the couch, with his head nudging the head rest and cookie crumbs all around his lips. There’s an empty mug on the coffee table and he’s watching the episode of friends where Rachel decides not to go to France because she doesn’t want to leave Ross.

 

Louis doesn’t hear Harry and when Harry walks into his line of vision, he squeaks. Harry grins and then bends down over him, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the debris around Louis’ mouth. Louis watches him with a considerable amount of childlike innocence, like Harry is this mysterious creature performing some kind of magic on him that he’s never encountered before. It saddens Harry deeply. Louis is obviously left straining for this kind of attention when he’s with Duncan. He should be looked after 24/7. If Harry was Louis’---if Harry had the chance, he’d spend his days cooking for Louis and soaping his skin up in the bath.  He’d give him massages and play with his hair whenever he had a hand to spare. He’d worship Louis the way he deserves.

 

“Thanks,” Louis murmurs, his hand tracing his clean mouth.

“Welcome.”

 

Harry plants himself down next to Louis and Louis offers him a share of his blanket.

 

“If Rachel and Ross can make it work….”

 

Louis doesn’t even finish the sentence but Harry hears it anyway. _Why can’t we?_ Louis just hangs his head against the back of the couch and looks at Harry with defeat in his eyes. Harry can see that for Louis, losing Duncan feels akin to losing himself. He’s not ready for it. He’s so used to being defined by this relationship that he simply can’t define himself without it.

 

“It took them ten years,” Harry says knowledgeably, “and that’s not even counting all those years that Ross spent pining for her when they were young. Relationships are difficult, especially when you’ve been with someone for a long time. It’s hard to know whether it’s worth it. I mean, Ross really hurt Rachel when he cheated on her and then there was all that time in between, the other women and the mixed signals. It was never going to be easy for her to trust him again but I guess…I guess in their case…Ross was willing to work for it all those years and to work on it in the future. He made mistakes but he-he truly loved her. Her happiness was so important to him.”

Louis’ forehead forms folds as his eyebrows draw together and his bottom lip falls. He looks on the edge of despair. Harry wants to comb his fingers through his hair but he vows to keep his hands to himself, at least in this moment.

 

“You don’t think he really loves me, do you?” Louis asks with dismay.

 

Harry wonders if Louis has ever discussed Duncan like this with anybody else. The way Louis is gripping the blanket so tightly in his fist tells Harry he probably hasn’t and Harry knows he has to tread carefully.

 

“I think,” he clears his throat, watching Louis’ eyes grow misty, “that it’s so hard for somebody else to say. I only know so much about what goes on. I know-I know he hurts you and I know you think it’s okay and that there has to be a reason for that, a reason that you think that I mean. There has to be some reason you haven’t given up. I think love is complicated. I think somebody can love you and still destroy you…because people are flawed. I think,” Harry exhales loudly and meets Louis’ gaze, head on, “I think somebody can love you so intensely but not know what that means. They can break you with their own fear of losing you. I guess….somebody can love you incredibly fiercely and still not be the best thing for you.”

 

There’s a shuddery tone to Louis’ breath.

 

“I like that you do that. You’re honest, s _o_ honest but not like you…like you don’t try and tell me things are one way or the other.”

 

“Because I don’t believe in that,” Harry plants his hand on Louis’ knee, “I think that everybody’s capable of finding their own truths. Especially you. Do I like to see you hurt the way you were tonight? No, not at all but if all you’ll allow me to do is this,” Harry squeezes Louis’ blanket clad knee, “then I’m happy with that.”

They smile at each other for a moment and Harry squeezes his knee once more for good measure.

 

“Lou,” he says with exaggerated horror, “you’ve got a tiny knee.”

 

Louis’ look turns sour.

 

“Shut it hipster.”

 

Harry chuckles deeply and grips the other knee too, leaning in and dropping his mouth open in exaggerated shock.

 

“Oh. This one’s tiny too!” He exclaims

 

Louis is still glaring but there’s a hint of humour in his curved cheeks. Like he can’t help but respond. Harry runs his hands up to Louis’ waist and nods, his head tilted slightly to one side, like a scientist conducting an experiment.

 

“Yes, miniscule here also.”

 

Louis’ cheeks are filling with pink as he attempts to batter down his amusement, biting down on the centre of his mouth to contain it. Harry is determined. He digs his fingers into Louis’ sides without warning and Louis’ laughter bubbles over. These high pitched giggles and squeals turn Harry’s insides to mush. He tickles the wriggling boy beneath him who half-heartedly pushes him away, too weak with laughter to do much about it. Harry claps a hand over his mouth to silence him and though Harry’s done tickling, Louis is still giggling, his body heaving with it. His warm breath ghosts over Harry’s palm and his lips brush over Harry’s hand with every breath.

 

“Shh love. You’ll give away the game,” Harry warns with a huge grin.

 

Harry is leaning over Louis now and Louis grabs his hand, tugging so that Harry falls down atop him. Louis’ arms wind around him and his legs hook around the backs of Harry’s own. Harry can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

 

“What are you doing?” He asks against Louis’ throat.

 

Louis squeezes him slightly when he answers.

 

“Pity hug.”

 

When Harry finally draws away, they watch each other with bated breath and half bitten smiles, eyes shimmering in the half-light provided by the TV.

 

“Are we friends Lou?” Harry asks hopefully.

 

Louis points at him with a cute head tilt and a devious smirk.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

Harry just steals some of the blanket back and smiles to himself as he directs his attention toward the TV. Half an hour later, he looks over to find Louis fast asleep, the blanket slipping down the side of the couch and his hair fanning out over his forehead. Harry stands and turns off the TV. Then he stretches Louis’ legs out into his spot and readjusts the blanket. Before he can even tell himself it’s a bad idea, Harry finds himself leaning down and pushing Louis’ fringe back as he brushes his lips across the smoothness of his forehead. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when Louis’ eyelids tense and his hand hooks itself in Harry’s shirt.

 

“Hippie,” Louis mumbles.

 

A fond grin settles over Harry’s mouth as he realises Louis is still quite unconscious.

 

“What Lou?” Harry prompts.

 

Louis tosses his head a little, his fringe falling across his eyes and making him twitch.

 

“Hippo,” he whines.

 

Harry’s hand brushes Louis’ hair back from his face.

 

“What hippo Lou?”

 

Louis pulls on his shirt insistently and then releases it. He turns over onto his stomach and buries the side of his face more comfortably into his pillow.

 

“Hipster,” he sighs with relief, as though the word had been very hard to retrieve, “be my hipster.”

 

Harry doesn’t know what Louis’ dreaming about or whether it even has anything to do with him at all but there’s no one else here to see him or to hear his thoughts and he can let himself hope. He squeezes Louis’ hip.

 

“I am your hipster.”

 

…..

 

When Harry stumbles out into the living room, he finds the doona folded up with the pillow placed upon it. He frowns and then looks at the time on the DVD player. 11 am. So, a little later than he intended to sleep. He had intended to make Louis breakfast though he supposes Louis wanted to get back to Duncan sooner rather than later, before Duncan discovered where he spent the night.

 

Harry doesn’t notice the box until after he’s returned the doona and pillow to the linen closet. When he comes back, he sees it lying on the opposite couch. It’s a huge white box with a pink ribbon tied around it. There’s a white note card lying beneath the ribbon that says “ _hipsters only”_ in slightly messy handwriting. Harry wonders what time Louis woke up because he clearly left and came back. He’s also wildly curious to see what’s inside. When Harry turns the note card over, there’s more writing.

 

_You should have had one of these. Now you do. Thank you for the hospitality fairy godmother x_

When Harry lifts the lid on the box, his mouth cracks open into a huge smile and he doubles over with laughter. It’s a Barbie camper van. The exact kind he’d wanted when he was little but hadn’t been allowed to have. It’s ridiculous and yet still the sweetest, most heartfelt gift anybody has ever given Harry. He returns to his room and hunts for his phone in his sheets. When he finds it, he quickly taps out a text, grinning all the while.

 

Harry: _Hi Barbie_

Louis: **I am NOT Barbie**

Harry: _Louuuu_

 

Louis: **I hate you**

 

Louis: **Hi Ken!**

 

Harry: _You want to go for a ride?_

 

Lou: **Sure Ken !!**

 

Harry: _Jump in_

Louis: **I’m a Barbie girl**

Harry: _are you now?_

Louis: **I hate you. I hate myself**.

 

Harry:  _You passed my test…you can come play with the van any time ;) .xx_

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any inaccuracies in certain parts. If you don't notice any then pretend I never said anything ;) 
> 
> COMMENTS ARE AMAZING. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't read my last fic, go go go because it's almost at 200 kudos which would just be amazing to me :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading xxx

"Are you going to talk to me at all?"  
  
Duncan looks up from where he's quietly pulling clothes from the washing basket and folding them to be put away.  
  
"What were you expecting me to say?"  
  
Louis was expecting one of Duncan's extremes. Ferocious, unpredictable anger or tooth rotting sweetness. He was expecting some kind of response to the fact that Louis had not only stayed in the bar with Harry but also decided not to come home. He hasn't had the nerve to take a stand like that since the fighting first began and even then, it was nothing like last night.

 

There was never a...Harry. There was never someone there to pick up the pieces and assure Louis that he did the right thing. It felt like such a monumental moment for him that he was expecting much the same level of drama once he returned home. This silence is almost worse. Louis' hope was always the fact that Duncan seemed afraid to lose him, that though he sometimes screwed up royally and took it too far, he would always be willing to make up for it in his own way.  
  
Now Duncan has spent half their Saturday together doing odd jobs around the house while Louis watched him out of the corner of his eye and waited for the fallout, one way or another. It hadn't come and Louis is currently going out of his mind. So much so that he's dared to ask, with just the slightest hint of attitude, for an explanation.  
  
"I thought we'd talk-" _about last night_ , Louis finishes in his head but then he realises how ridiculous that is. Whatever the fallout is, it's not usually a conversation. No, you need two people for that. "I thought we'd maybe spend some time together today," he corrects, "because you know I probably have to go and buy some new ink tomorrow."  
  
"We've spent time together. You followed me around all day like a little lap dog," Duncan says, his mouth pulling up into that cruel, smug smile that makes Louis feel hollow inside, "trying to make up for your little tantrum last night."  
  
"I wasn't-"  
  
It's on the tip of his tongue. _I wasn't trying to make up for anything_. _There's nothing to make up for_. Duncan's hands have stilled and he's watching Louis with an expectation, eyebrows raised in insistent crescents that convey exactly what will precede any form of defiance. Louis inhales deeply and when he lets the unsteady breath go, he lets any irritation go with it.

 

“I just wanted to be with you. Properly.” Louis sighs and runs his hands across the duvet in front of him.

 

“Maybe you should have come home with me then,” Duncan says dismissively.

 

When Louis looks up, Duncan is tugging his black suitcase out from beneath the bed. Louis sits bolt upright, certain that his hair looks like it’s suffered the effects of an electric shock but not having it in him to care.

 

“Are you going somewhere?”

 

Duncan doesn’t even glance up as he lifts the entire pile of folded clothes from the bed covers and places them neatly in his suitcase.

 

“Conference.”

 

“But you didn’t say…you only just went away,” Louis swallows noisily, fear making his voice come out thin and strained, “surely they would have told you earlier.”

 

Duncan zips the suitcase up and then rests his hands upon it, leaning over it to look Louis dead in the eye, a cold indifference in his expression that wounds Louis deeply.

 

“I’m not going to explain myself to you.”

 

“I-“

 

Duncan’s mouth forms a grimace as he rakes his eyes over Louis’ body and cuts him off without a second thought.

 

“You need a shower.”

 

Louis’ mouth is hanging open but he shuts it, nodding his submission. His vocal chords feel too swollen with sadness to form words and what difference does it make when the person you’re talking to doesn’t see things the way you do? Louis ducks his head as shame heats his skin past boiling point. He walks down the hall to the bathroom, his heart contracting in his chest.

 

Once inside, his eyes well up and he feels the same kind of vehemence toward himself that he always seems to feel when Duncan reminds him of how little he factors in to every decision. He feels so meaningless every time that Duncan reinforces the fact that he isn’t worth an explanation. It’s not Louis’ place to ask because he’s constantly letting Duncan down. How had he thought his resistance, his night at Harry’s or even his consideration of the fact that maybe he deserved more…how had he thought any of that could change things?

 

….

 

When Louis emerges from the shower, he’s all cried out, feeling boneless and weary. He trudges into the living area to find Duncan sitting on the arm of the couch, bouncing his knee and looking agitated. His hand is curled around the handle of his suitcase and he looks to be gritting his teeth as he jumps up to face Louis.

 

“Finally,” he snaps, “I thought you were never going to get out. Opening yourself up weren’t you? Couldn’t resist. You’re so fucking desperate.”

 

Louis’ skin burns with whiplash. As if he could even think about touching himself in the state he’s in.

 

“Is something the matter?” Louis asks, walking toward him.

 

Duncan’s got on a white polo shirt and black jeans that cling to the angular shape of his thighs. Louis can see the traces of carefully applied gel and he smells like three different kinds of cologne. It makes Louis’ eyes water. He ignores the fact that Duncan never used to give two shits about how he looked or smelled for work.

 

For a single moment, Louis lets himself hope. Duncan waited for him to get out of the shower so he could say goodbye. Maybe even kiss him goodbye. They’ll kiss and make up and then Duncan will leave and Louis will….maybe Louis will see Harry. Maybe. A weird sense of relief at Duncan’s soon-to-be absence sets in at that thought but Louis refuses to confront the reason for that emotion.

 

The point is, Duncan waited for him. Duncan will pull him close in a moment and make it all okay. He’ll remind Louis why they’re still doing this. He’ll remind Louis why they have to be Rachel and Ross, destined to be together and not Ross and Emily, too messed up to ever make it work. Only ever destined for different paths with different people.

 

“Yes. Your mother called,” Duncan says with a wave of his hand.

 

“My mum?” Louis echoes, warmth flooding through his body.

 

He doesn’t even have to look in a mirror to know his expression has just lightened tenfold. He knows exactly how much he loves the woman who raised him. She knows him better than anybody on this earth and just thinking of talking to her alleviates half of the hurt he’s been feeling today.

 

“Yeah. She’s gone into labour.”

 

Louis’ tongue almost drops through the bottom of his mouth. His mum. In Labour. The Twins. Louis is going to be a big brother to two new little babies. His fingertips tingle as he imagines holding them and pressing kisses to their tiny faces. Then it occurs to him that he’s a long way off that. It occurs to him that he’s not where he needs to be.

 

“No,” Louis shakes his head in denial, his fringe shaking out over his eyes, “no, she can’t be. It’s not for a few weeks…not for-it can’t be,” Louis whines, realising even as he says it that he’s been far too distracted, distracted by….Harry, “I’m supposed to be with her. I was supposed to go down there and be there to take her to the hospital if Dan was at work. I can’t-“

 

Louis’ voice chokes off as panic rises in his throat and his whole body starts to tremble. Duncan doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t move to comfort Louis and instead tightens his hold on his suitcase standing up and lifting it into the air while he gets ready to leave. Louis has never felt so alone.

 

“You’re not going to—“Louis sucks in a huge breath to stop the tremble in his lips from trickling into his voice, “You’re not going to leave _now_ , are you?”

 

Except Louis can see the answer right before his eyes. He can see it in the way Duncan’s light green eyes dart to the door, the way his feet tap itching to move and worse still, the way he avoids Louis’ hurt expression with little discomfort in his own.

 

“I-“Louis tries to take control.

 

Duncan finally reaches out and grasps his shoulder, squeezing gently but his expression is still entirely too blank.

 

“I had to take my car to the mechanic…it was playing up. I’m going to have to take yours,” he says without a hint of apology.

 

Louis loses it.

 

“You can’t,” he rasps, his mouth quivering at the corners, “my m...m…mum. She needs me. I need to get to her.”

 

“You can take a taxi. I can’t miss this conference and I need to leave now. I can’t afford to wait for a taxi,” Duncan argues, taking his hand away and edging towards the door.

 

“And I can?” Louis shouts, “my mum is having a baby. Two babies. My _mum_ , Duncan. You know how much this means to me. It’ll take me forever to get there if I don’t drive. Surely you could just explain to your boss. I’m sure he’d understand because-“

 

“No,” Duncan shuts him down, “Louis, I can’t. I’m sorry, I really am but you’re just going to have to make other arrangements. It’s just a birth Louis, worst comes to worst, you’ll miss the painful part.”

 

“Other arrangements?” Louis is irate, “I can’t…do you have any idea…Duncan, _please._ I want to be there for the painful part, she wanted me there for it. I-“Louis’ tears leak out the sides of his eyes, “I was going to hold her hand. I was going to keep the girls updated.”

 

The fact that Louis’ now speaking in past tense is a strong indication of how resigned he already is to the fact that Duncan is going to leave and take the car with him. Louis knows how these things go. He had thought this might be different, that for once, Duncan might understand the emotional significance of Louis’ relationship with his family and just be there to support him. He had, for a moment, foolishly hoped that Duncan would give up his stupid conference to be by Louis’ side. He had thought maybe Duncan loved him enough to sacrifice something of himself for a change. No such luck.

 

“I’m sorry,” Duncan repeats, moving forward to kiss the side of Louis’ forehead, “but I have to go. Give my best to your mum. Tell the babes I said hi.”

 

Louis’ sobs are starting to overtake, his chest pushing out further and further with every weighted breath. His wet eyelashes brush his skin as he stares at Duncan’s feet, caught in despair.

 

“I will,” he says with a sniff.

 

Duncan’s hand moves across the top of his hair and Louis stupidly moves into the touch expecting more. Expecting something that never comes. Louis’ heart constricts as he thinks of the way Harry had so softly and leisurely towel dried his hair last night, like his heart depended on making Louis feel comforted and cared for. Duncan’s polar opposite. 

 

As soon as the door clicks closed behind Duncan, Louis pulls his phone from his pocket and dials Liam’s number.

 

“C’mon Lima pick up,” Louis mutters, his heart rabbiting in his chest as the dial tone continues.

 

“Hi, this is Liam’s phone. I’m not available at the moment but if you’d like to-“

 

Louis barely listens to the rest of the abnormally long voicemail message, too antsy and impatient to record his own.

 

“Hi Payno, it’s Lou. Please call me back. _Please_. It’s mum. She’s gone into labour and I’m supposed to be there, I’m supposed to be by her side and I—“Louis chokes back a fresh round of tears, “anyway, Duncan has the car and I just need somebody to get me there now. She needs me Li. Please call me. Please.”

 

Louis waits for approximately two minutes before he’s up and pacing again, tears melting down his face as he tries to magically come up with a quicker way to get there than waiting for a taxi and having the driver take the longest possible route to get there. He needs help. There’s no way around that. Yet thanks to Duncan’s possessiveness, his list of friends amounts to two. Liam and Taylor. Liam, who’s not picking up and Taylor who’s in Ibiza with Calvin. Two friends. Just two fucking-

 

 _Harry_.

 

By the time Harry opens his door after a furious round of knocking from Louis, Louis is at his wits end. He’s wasted so much time. Now he’s wasting more of it standing in Harry’s doorway ogling the baby Tarzan that stands before him.

 

Harry’s usually spiky curls are slick with water and it elongates them, transforming them into long, dark strands of shiny hair plastered to the sides of his face like bits of silky seaweed. Others are forming loops on the top of his head, as if upon emerging from his bath Harry had swung his momentous brunette mane up and out of his face and into a quiff. Some are wound around his neck in a watery embrace, dripping fat droplets of water down his collar bones and drawing Louis’ attention to the very serious problem that is Harry Styles’ dripping wet, bare chest. There’s traces of suds around his wide nipples and he smells like Louis’ favourite raspberry lollies.

 

To make matter worse, Harry is wrapped in some kind of fluffy pink dressing gown that is adorably feminine and only makes the reddish pink of his soft lips more apparent. Never mind the fact that the robe is quite loosely tied at the waist and Harry is clearly wearing nothing underneath. It’s enough to make Louis’ explanation come bubbling to his lips without so much as a “Hi Harry, sorry to disrupt your bath.”

 

“My mum, my mum is in labour and the twins are going to be born and Duncan took the car. He just took it and Liam won’t pick up the god damn phone or call me back and I can’t—if I take a taxi, I won’t—I need to get there. I need to get there now, god dammit. I need to be there for her. I promised her, I promised.”

 

Louis’ tears overflow once more and before he can even think about batting them away, he’s being yanked into a tight hug and Harry is stroking over his hair and cooing to him. He’s acting like he wasn’t just standing there looking like a cross between an ad for topless waiters and a real life example of how males can ‘get in touch with their feminine side.’ He reminds Louis in part of a rock star turned heart throb; danger in the very swell of his lips but then in part of a curly haired baby prince whose whole personality could easily be summed up as; bubbles, rubber duckies and raspberry bath bombs.

 

“Lou, slow down,” Harry says to him, gripping the sides of his biceps as he pulls back to look at him, “what’s going on? Your mum’s in labour and Duncan has the car. Is that it?”

 

Louis nods, too nervous to speak when he feels like he just might blubber all over the pretty, undeniably handsome man before him. Harry wipes the soft fleece of his sleeve across both of Louis’ cheeks, drying the tears and giving him a soft smile.

 

“Just a bit hard to understand between the tears love. Between that and the habit you have of talking a mile a minute.”

 

Louis narrows his eyes.

 

“Well baby Tarzan, at least I get more than one word out every five minutes.”

 

"Baby Tarzan?"  
  
A bemused smile graces Harry's lips and Louis only _just_ manages not to blush fiery red. As is, he can feel two buds of warmth blooming at the tips of his ears and his eyes drop to Harry's swallows, still dripping soap suds.  
  
"Louis?"  
  
When Louis looks up, it hits him that he's suddenly a lot closer than before and his hands, his damn disrespectful hands, are stroking over Harry's moist skin, clearing away the remnants of his bath. Harry looks horrified, terrified or some combination of the two and Louis would quite like to swap his hands out for two new, completely obedient ones, thank you very much.  
  
"God I'm so sorry," he whispers, pulling his hands away.  
  
Harry catches his wrists and there's that smile again, that liquid green melting into fond.  
  
"No, no it's okay," Harry assures him, "it's just....your mum?"  
  
Louis slams his palm against his forehead.  
  
"Fuck. Jesus Christ, I've got to—I mean I need..." Louis trails off, unsure.  
  
He'd been so worked up before that he'd convinced himself he'd do just about anything to get to his mum before she had the babies but this is his family, this is his mum and Dan. The girls. The babies. If Harry meets them, it's almost like there's no going back. They'll be friends whether Louis admits it to himself or not and that's disconcerting. Why? Louis can't quite pinpoint why. It's just something about him. Something so... _Harry_. There’s this quality he has that gives Louis this jittery feeling inside and makes him doubt everything he's ever known.  
  
"What do you need Lou?" Harry asks.

 

It’s with so much eager kindness and charm that Louis almost says " _you_."  
  
"I-"  
  
"I can drive you to Donny," Harry says with certainty.  
  
"Um…”

 

Harry doesn’t seem offended. He just massages Louis’ shoulder like he knows exactly how much inner turmoil Louis is currently experiencing. Why is he such a sweetheart? It’s distracting.

 

“Hey, if you want, I’ll just drop you and go,” Harry says with sincerity burning in his kind green eyes, “or if like, you need a lift back…I can just go check out your old haunts. I mean, that would require you telling me what they are of course but hey, you can tell me on the way!”

 

Harry looks far too excited at the thought of unearthing Louis’ past. Not that Louis has anything to hide. It just makes him uncomfortable considering how unenthused Duncan had been the first time Louis took him home. He’d been so very uninterested standing outside the theatre in Louis’ school hearing about the first time Louis took to the stage.

 

Sure, back then Duncan had the heart to feign his interest but Louis had seen the blank look in his eyes that meant he wasn’t listening. Louis had felt his own enthusiasm and pride wane quickly in the face of that rejection. Like a flower that closes up its petals with the onset of winter and the imminent absence of sunlight.

 

“Harry, I couldn’t ask you to just wait for me like some kind of chauffeur,” Louis insists.

 

“I know,” Harry agrees, “I know you couldn’t ask. That’s why I’m saying you have no choice. Now are we going to leave or what? Those babies aren’t going to wait for you to get your shit together Lou.”

 

“My shit together?”

 

Louis’ eyebrows are somewhere up around his fringe, his lips rising too. Harry turns his nose up in a remarkable impression of his snobby mother.

 

“I can swear too Lewis. Now c’mon sir, your chariot awaits.”

 

He sweeps his arm out in front of him in a broad stroke and it’s the most ridiculous thing Louis’ seen all day. Here’s this twenty something man in a fluffy pink dressing gown acting like the driver of the pumpkin-turned-chariot in Cinderella, when it’s so obvious that Harry is really prince charming. Not that Louis is Cinderella….even if her dress would look _fantastic_ with his eyes.

 

“Harry,” Louis shakes his head, his teeth poking through his lips, “you might want to get changed first.”

 

He tugs on the end of Harry’s dressing gown ties and Harry’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before he realises. He chuckles to himself and then dances away from Louis.

 

“Be back in a minute kind Sir. Please be seated,” Harry instructs him, sweeping his arm out toward the couch.

 

Louis rolls his eyes at the theatrics but he’s smiling like a crazy person so the whole charade’s probably a bit pointless. Harry emerges from the kitchen minutes later in a cute little grey blazer with a pink handkerchief poking out the pocket, grey slacks and a white, loose t-shirt. He looks dashing. However there’s no necklaces or patterns in sight and Louis doesn’t even realise he’s pouting until Harry pulls on his bottom lip.

 

“Why?” he asks.

 

Louis pushes his hand away but then places his own palm across the hollow in Harry’s neck, keeping his eyes at chest level so he doesn’t have to look at the rebuke in Harry’s eyes. He shouldn’t touch Harry this way. Not when it feels this right. So right it must be wrong. He does it anyway.

 

“You’re missing something Harold,” he says huskily.

 

“What?”

 

Harry’s voice sounds close. Louis looks up to find Harry has ducked his head. It brings their eyes into a direct line of contact. They’re closer than they’ve ever been but Louis has to ignore it. He has no choice.

 

“Necklace. Where’s your jewellery? You look too preppy,” Louis comments distractedly, circling Harry’s wrist and drawing his hand up across the tight fitting blazer.

 

“I—just in case,” Harry sounds awkward and Louis raises his eyebrows, “you know in case your family happened to see me, I didn’t want them to think I was like all…because you think I’m like—and I just wanted-“

 

Louis swipes his thumb over Harry’s mouth to seal the words in.

 

“Go get changed hipster. Patterned shirt, the moon necklace and hmm,” Louis points his fingers at the slacks, his mouth pulling up at the side, “leave those on.”

 

Harry’s smile is a little wobbly with confusion but he doesn’t protest and when he returns, he looks just hipster-y enough for Louis’ liking. Louis tells him so as soon as they’re on the road. Harry turns and runs a hand down the back of Louis’ hair, casual as anything, while he smiles and remains mute. As if that’s all he needed to say. Somehow it wreaks havoc on Louis insides.

 

“Tell me more about your family,” Harry says, eyes flitting to the left as he smoothly changes lanes, “you’ve only really told me the background. Mostly about your mum and Dan. What about the girls? How old are they? What are they like?”

 

Louis settles into his chair more, resting a foot on the dashboard and then quickly pulling it back when he realises himself. Duncan’s always telling him what a bad habit it is, how inconceivably rude it is to mark someone’s furniture with his shoes. Harry apparently has no such qualms. Without even turning his head away from the road, his hand extends out to still Louis’ thigh.

 

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I don’t mind.”

 

Louis throat is rapidly swelling up with affection that he’s forced to bite back in order to continue talking like a normal person.

 

“Right, the girls. The girls are basically…my favourite people in this world. I mean in some ways I feel like they’re my kids because of the age difference. I used to help mum put them to bed and get them into their pyjamas. I spent years reading them all their bedtime stories and then being forbidden from leaving their beds because they always wanted Louis cuddles.”

 

Harry glances at him for a moment, a dimple making itself apparent.

 

“Louis cuddles?”

 

Louis laughs into his hand, using it as an excuse to hide his face from the intense side eye glances Harry’s giving him. He’s incredibly embarrassed but Harry just reaches out a hand and pats his thigh.

 

“I’m just teasing. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

 

Louis nods and takes his hand from his face with a sigh.

 

“Mum used to call them Louis cuddles. It was like a form of bribery in my house. If the girls promised to get in their pyjamas and brush their teeth before mum or I had to intervene then they’d get an extra story and cuddles with me. For some unknown reason, it worked like magic,” Louis explains with a bemused shake of his head.

 

Harry’s smile is luminous, the sun reflecting off the berry flavoured lip smacker that gives his mouth just the right amount of reddish tint.

 

“They love you. You’re their amazing big brother, of course it worked.”

 

Louis buries his smile in his palm again. This time, more touched than embarrassed.

 

“Yeah…well, I mean…Lottie is the oldest, 16 and even she kind of looked to me for guidance. Recently she rang me up and asked me what to wear on her first, first date. I told her a turtle neck and the loosest trousers she owns and no bloody push up bra,” Louis recalls with a smirk.

 

“You did not!” Harry exclaims, looking at Louis in open mouthed horror.

 

Louis giggles and Harry’s mouth loosens a little, his eyes glazing over slightly. All the tendons in his throat tighten and he grips the wheel convulsively while he turns back to the road. Louis puts it down to the fact that a 24 year old tattoo artist who giggles and likes eyeliner is not something you see every day.

 

“I did,” he confirms with a chuckle, “and she told me where to go. Then she handed me off to mum and we both had a bit of a cry about it. I still remember when mum took her to get her first bra. I was disgusted at the time… and even more disgusted when she came home and announced to the whole household her bra size but then I guess there never really were any boundaries there. I took to being the gay big brother like a duck to water. I might not have been ridiculously feminine but Lots did give me my first eyeliner lesson and I felt honoured when she asked me to go shopping with her. Still do. So I just…you know. Like it’s scary that every time I visit, her hair’s a little longer and her make up’s a little bolder. Like she’s started talking about doing make up tutorials on youtube and I’m just scared. I’m scared of how quickly time flies and how I’m missing all of it.”

 

“Lou,” Harry whines and it sounds like a strange kind of plea.

 

Louis whips his head to the side. They’re stopped at a traffic light and Harry’s looking at him with a pained expression.

 

“What?” Louis asks defensively.

 

“You’re just— “Harry breaks off, biting his lip like the moment’s too much for him, “you’re not….you’re not her parent you know. You’re amazing but you’re not— like it sounds like you’ve been there for so much already. The fact that she would call you and ask what to wear on her first date…you know how sensitive that topic is for a young girl? She obviously trusts you and more than that, depends on you, knows she can depend on you always. There’s nothing wrong with you living your own life. Just as long as it’s the life you really want and I— “

 

Harry breaks off, chewing on his mouth furiously.

 

“You?”

 

“I cannot understand how anybody with as much heart as you, would let themselves be…unhappy. You have so much to give,” Harry says with zeal.

 

Louis’ skin feels tighter against his face as his mind fights against that particular presumption.

 

“I’m not…you know, I’m not this great hero or anything. I’m not some kind of…I just love my sisters. It’s not like it means I deserve…Harry, you can’t just…look, do we have to talk about this?” Louis says helplessly.

 

“No, I’m sorry. Please tell me more. Tell me about the others.”

 

Louis sighs and then shakes off the feeling of discomfort in his stomach.

 

“Fizzy is 13 and an absolute master of sass. I mean she’s me before I grew up and toned it down a notch. You’ll scarcely see her without her hip cocked and her hair flipping around the place. I’m actually a bit scared she’s got a whole queen bee thing going on with her friends but,” Louis chuckles as he remembers the conversation, “she assures me she’s a fair ruler over her people.”

 

Harry chortles too as he overtakes a remarkably slow car in front of them.

 

“A little version of you, hey?” He remarks, turning to wink at Louis, “sounds like trouble.”  


Louis laughs delightedly.  
  
"You could say that. Even the twins have their own wild streak though. More so Phoebe then Dais. Dais just echoes whatever Phoebe says really, even when she's not as into the idea. I know they're supposed to be like carbon copies of each other but I think Dais is really the more timid of the two. She gets her strength from Phoebe."  
  
Harry's doing that "I've got a secret between my lips" smile again that makes Louis' mouth turn up too.  
  
"Sounds like you've got a soft spot for Daisy. Playing favourites Lou?" he teases.  
  
"How could you accuse me of such a thing?!" Louis feigns indignation, grinning along with Harry, "And with a new set of twins on the way?! Treason. Off with his head!"  
  
Harry's shirt forms creases around his abs as he hunches over, giggling into his bicep like the child he is. Never mind the fact that Louis has been giggling a hell of lot more than usual of late.  
  
"Anyway, you're right on the money. I love them both to pieces but Dais and I really have always had a special bond…which was weird considering I was never a quiet child. I was much more like Phoebe but Dais is just…” Louis runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he searches for a way to explain it, “I almost feel like I'm mentoring her sometimes. Like letting her know it's okay to stand up for herself. She's not got a whole lot of self-awareness. They're eleven now, the girls and she's just in this stage where she worries so much about how she looks or what she says that she doesn't enjoy herself as much as she should. Sometimes I just want to shake her and say "you're brilliant Dais" just so maybe she'd see what we all see."  
  
Harry turns his eyes from the road to gaze at Louis, a contemplative expression replacing his amusement as he gathers Louis' soul with his eyes and weighs it in the palm of his hand. Louis can feel it at the base of his spine, the way Harry inspects every piece of him, identifying the tears in his soul and the scars that never healed, never turning away at even the rawest of wounds.  
  
"I know the feeling," he says, finally letting his eyes fall back to the road.  
  
Louis breathes a sigh of relief when Harry’s eyes release him but his words are still lodged in Louis’ throat, bothering him more than they should.  
  
"Yes I mean you," Harry confirms, "you're completely oblivious."  
  
"Harry," Louis warns him, trying to shake off the pleasant tinge of warmth that spreads from his toes to his cranium as he considers how much Harry seems to think of him.  
  
"Louis," Harry echoes in the same tone, "just think about it. Surely it's possible that you have the exact same problem as Daisy. Maybe that's why you feel so connected with her."  
  
Louis grumbles incoherently. It only makes Harry grin.  
  
......  
  
"I'm really nervous," Louis says, sitting there with his hands wedged between his thighs, bouncing up and down to the erratic beat of his heart.  
  
Harry stills him with a large hand pressed to his thigh. It makes Louis jolt an inch forward in his seat as he hadn't seen it coming.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"This is the first time I've been there at a birth. For my siblings' birth. I thought it might be weird but mum was all "as long as you stay near my head, we'll be right. Please boo." But like, what if I'm no good at comforting her? And what if...what if the babies hate me?!"  
  
Harry snorts at this which makes Louis glare.  
  
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I just...how could they hate you? Nobody could hate you."  
  
Harry reaches out and runs his thumb across the side of Louis' strained temple without hesitation. None of Louis' friends have ever been so quick to touch…not like this. Maybe it doesn't mean the same thing to Harry. Maybe he's like this with everybody. He's different in every other way so it would make sense.  
  
"Thank you," Louis' smile is off centre, "but I'm still nervous."  
  
"You'll be fine. C'mon get up there, I'm sure your mum could use you."  
  
Louis smiles his gratitude and then puts his hand on the door. Only, he doesn't move. Harry's hand brushes over the back of his shoulder.  
  
"Louis, are you okay?"  
  
Louis turns his head and then grabs Harry's hand, squeezing it gently and watching as Harry's expression freezes.  
  
"Come with me."  
  
Harry squeezes his hand back.  
  
"Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or make you feel...I don't want to like...really?"  
  
Harry looks nervous and endearingly flattered. Louis releases his hand and then opens the car door.  
  
"Really Harold."  
  
....

 

“Hi. Hello, yes, you…nurse lady. I’m looking for Johannah. Deakin, my mum. I don’t know how long she’s been in labour…no one would pick up their damn—like I don’t know if she’s gone to delivery….but twins—my mum.”

 

Harry squeezes Louis’ shoulder.

 

“Love, you’re not making any sense.”

 

Louis glares at him. Not as hard as the wrinkled old woman at reception is glaring at Louis though. Harry clutches Louis’ waist and lifts him up off the floor, turning and plopping him down behind himself so he’s free to step forward into Louis’ place. He ignores Louis swearing behind him.

 

“Hello,” Harry says in a deep rumble, letting his laziest, only half there smile wobble across his lips, “my name’s Harry and ah, this is Louis Tomlinson. He’s looking for his mother, Johannah Deakin. She’s having twins.”

 

The old nurse’s look of consternation melts away into buttery soft blue eyes and an abashed smile. She flutters her eyelashes at him as she gestures to the hallway on the right.

 

“Straight down that corridor, then turn left. At the end of that corridor is the delivery room. Mrs Deakin was relocated there.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry clasps his hands together and bows his head in a prayer-like gesture, “thank you so much.”

 

When Harry turns around, Louis grabs his hand, suctioning their palms together as he intertwines their fingers and drags Harry along the path the nurse set for them. Harry tries to crystallise the moment in his mind because it feels like one of the most transient, beautiful sensations of his life. He revels in the softness of Louis’ skin on his and the way their hands fit together so perfectly, Harry’s big paw forming a protective cover for Louis’ smaller hand. Harry’s stomach dips with emotion. Louis’ need is plain as day, evident in the way he holds on so tight, squeezing their fingers together.

 

“I don’t know how you do that,” Louis remarks, shaking his head as though confused.

 

Harry is equally confused and Louis’ not helping matters, dragging him along without so much as a glance behind to reveal his expression.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Make me feel like a useless idiot and then sweep in and save the day, all helpful and heroic.”

 

“Heroic?”

 

Harry’s smirking at Louis’ back, imagining himself astride a white stallion and racing to save Louis from grave peril. Although if this is fantasy world, he might as well go for broke and imagine a unicorn with braids that match his own and a propensity to meow like a kitten. As for Louis, his clothes have been stolen by a pickpocket and he needs retrieving from quicksand. Harry will of course, pull him free.

 

Suddenly Louis comes to an abrupt stop and Harry looks up to find a young girl with dark chocolate brown hair and pretty greyish blue eyes, standing with her hip cocked to one side and her arms crossed as she stares them down. Harry can only assume that this is Little Louis. Fizzy.

 

“Hey Fizz.”

 

Fizzy shakes her head, her expression hard and unflinching.

 

“You’re not going in there,” she says, tilting her head up so her hair falls away from her face before shifting her gaze to Harry, “and _he_ certainly isn’t going in there.”

 

Harry tries not to feel offended. It’s much easier to achieve when Louis snorts and opens his arms for his sister. She launches herself at him and he plants kisses in her hair while she giggles and bats her hands at him. When Louis pulls back, Harry sees the crinkles around his pale blue eyes and the word ‘home’ in the warm set of his smile. He’s beautiful.

 

“Can I see her now?” Louis asks with an arrogant smirk.

 

Harry chortles when Fizzy shakes her head. At the sound of his laugh, Louis’ sister turns her eyes his way and raises her eyebrows, the picture of attitude and the spitting image of, well, Louis.

 

“Amused, curly?”

 

Dear god. This Louis miniature is starting to weird him out. Louis giggles which softens Harry’s unease, so much so that he smiles down at Fizzy and offers a hand.

 

“Yes. I’m Harry, Louis’…neighbour.”  


Fizzy looks unsure for a second, sizing him up with a diagonal tilt to her thin mouth but then she smiles too and throws her arms around his waist. A teddy bear disguised as a pit-bull. _Louis_. Harry dares to guide a hand down her glossy hair and she doesn’t protest. Louis squeezes his shoulder and Harry’s met with turbulent blue eyes that contain a mixture of chaos and certainty swirling around the magnificent blue.

 

“Neighbour and friend,” he corrects softly and Harry’s heart trips over itself as Louis’ hand gravitates up to massage the back of his neck.

 

“Fizzy, is that my brother I hear?” a light, tinkling voice calls.

 

A blonde haired, blue eyed girl rounds the corner towing two slightly smaller girls, dressed identically in leggings and loose white shirts with their hair done in matching braids.

 

“ _Our_ brother,” Fizzy corrects as she steps to the side, rolling her eyes at Harry as if to say “can you believe this chick?”

 

It makes Harry’s cheeks dimple with an amused grin. The grin dims somewhat when the three girls stop just short of him, ignoring their brother completely in favouring of staring straight at Harry. They take in the 70’s style pattern of his shirt, his necklace and the fact that Louis’ hand is now resting lightly in the spot between his shoulder blades. Louis draws away and then rolls his eyes just as Fizzy had.

 

“You can stop with the staring, I know he’s beautiful.”

 

Harry’s head snaps to the left. Louis’ thinks-

 

“But he’s _really_ not your type nor age appropriate and let me tell you, there’s not much beneath the curls and the pretty lips.”

 

 _Pretty lips?_ Harry feels he may have just died on the spot but-

 

“Heyyyy,” he complains, pouting at Louis.

 

Louis turns to him and squeezes his side, a wink and a playful smile sending Harry’s stomach into knots.

 

“Hello, I’m Harry. Louis’…friend,” Harry tells them, slightly unsure but Louis bobs his head, encouraging, “you must be Lottie?”

 

Harry rests his eyes on the blonde girl whose smile is kind and peaceable as she enfolds him in a hug.

 

“I know you’re falling for my brother,” she whispers in his ear.

 

Harry’s breath gets stuck in his throat and he tries to pull away but she holds him tighter.

 

“He thinks I need looking after but he does too. Look after him Harry.”

 

When she pulls back, Harry now sees something more than kindness in her eyes. Eyes that bear a startling resemblance to Louis’. There’s knowledge inside those eyes and real wisdom. She might only be sixteen but she knows enough of Louis’ life to know it’s incomplete. She knows enough of attraction and intimacy to know that Harry’s eyes aren’t saying “platonic pal.”

 

It terrifies Harry to admit it…to think about the way Louis’ name is painted on the backs of his eyelids, his every smile shivering down Harry’s spine and exploding into fire like some kind of reverse chill. Yet for now, all he knows is that something is happening inside. Something that involves the complicated man beside him who doesn’t know his own strength. Something Harry’s probably not prepared for. Lottie sees it. Louis’ _sister_ sees it. _Does Louis?_

Harry nods his head just barely. Just enough for Lottie to know he got the message and that he will. He can take care of Louis platonically after all. He doesn’t have to be Louis’…Louis’….it doesn’t bode well for Harry that he can’t even finish the thought without getting a small rush of adrenaline. Not to mention that there’s now a running catalogue of increasingly sappy and delusional images filling his mind. As Lottie walks over to Louis, enclosing him in a close hug, Harry turns his attention to the twins.

 

“You’re-“Harry points his finger at the girl with the messy braids and a mild form of mischief in her mouth, “Phoebe.”

 

Phoebe nods then hugs him tightly.

 

“You’re much better looking than Duncan.”

 

Harry glances to his side to see whether Louis heard but Louis is caught up with Lottie, holding on to her shoulders and whispering to her quietly, an unusually unguarded look in his eyes as he runs a hand down the side of her hair and she answers with a watery smile. Harry doesn’t realise how long he’s been staring, entirely too mesmerised, until he feels someone tug on the side of his shirt. When he starts and turns back, it’s to find the other eleven year old, Daisy, smiling up at him.

 

“I’m Daisy,” she says quietly and offers him her hand.

 

Not a hug like the others. It’s not as personal but Harry can see that it isn’t a lack of kindness or warmth holding her back. She truly is just shy. There’s little pink ovals heating up her cheeks as she looks up at him, the mere prospect of shaking his hand obviously quite anxiety inducing for her. Harry’s heart melts for her instantly. He can see why Daisy holds a special place in Louis’ heart and he takes her hand, shaking it as gently as he can manage, smiling at her all the while.

 

“Nice to meet you Daisy,” he says, running a thumb over the back of her hand before glancing back at Phoebe who’s looking suitably miffed, “and you too Phoebe. Of course.”

 

“Harry,” Louis intercedes, grabbing him by the bicep and pulling him away, “we need to go _now_. Apparently mum’s real close but she won’t even let Dan in the room.”

 

Harry raises his eyebrows and allows Louis to drag him around the corner to a room with a white door and a silver plate titled “delivery.” There’s a sweaty, harassed man leaning up against it, knocking his head against the door as he runs his hands through his sandy blonde hair. From inside, Harry can hear some screaming and what sounds like a pretty intense argument. When the man hears their footsteps, he takes one gigantic step closer to them and pulls Louis from Harry, yanking him into a hug. He’s such a tall guy that the only part of Louis that Harry can still spot is the ends of his brunette hair.

 

“Louis,” the man sighs with relief, finally releasing him from his grasp.

 

“Dan,” Louis echoes, “this is Harry.”

 

He gestures at Harry but Dan only offers Harry the barest hint of a distracted smile before he’s grabbing Louis’ shoulders and pleading with wide, crazed eyes.

 

“Louis, you have to get her to let me in. She’s ready to push for real and I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss the birth of my own children. Louis, _please_ do something.”

 

Louis’ eyes have gone a bit wide and Harry can tell he’s feeling the pressure so he runs his hand down the back of Louis’ hair, squeezing his neck as Louis had done for him before. Louis’ neck unclenches beneath his hand and he takes a deep breath and then turns and approaches the door.

 

“Mum,” he calls out, pausing as he listens for any response, “mum, it’s me. Louis. I’m here. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner but I’m here now. Please let me in.”

 

Louis’ whole face drops as his plea goes unanswered and the screaming simply continues. Yet just when Louis turns back to Harry, looking for all the world, like somebody just knocked over his sand castle, the door creaks open behind him and an ebony toned nurse with frizzy bleach blonde hair and a wearied look on her face, pokes her head out.

 

“Louis?” She asks and Louis spins around, nodding his head excitedly, “Johannah told me to tell you you can come in but…” her sorrowful eyes shift to Dan’s hopeful face, “only you.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dan swears and kicks out at the plastic bin beside the door.

 

Louis pats the side of his arm with sympathetic eyes.

 

“I’ll get her to let you in. I will,” he vows.

 

Harry gives Louis a comforting smile, just to let him know that he’ll be here and Louis’ eyes seem to capture the smile in a close embrace for a moment before letting it flutter away. When the door closes behind Louis, Harry notes that the screaming is now interspersed with some urgent chatter, some more yelling and then what might even be sobbing. After a couple more minutes in which Dan paces the length of the corridor and kneads his forehead with worry, Louis emerges again looking pinched and stressed. Harry moves to meet him halfway and his hand goes to Louis’ cheek, stroking the worry lines that bleed into his temples.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Louis nods but looks undeniably touched by Harry’s concern. He pulls Harry’s hand away but links their fingers and pulls him over to Dan. Louis’ hand curls over Dan’s shoulder and when Dan looks down at him, his eyes fill up with tears.

  
“Is she-“

 

“She’s ready for you mate.”

 

Dan scoops Louis up in a hug, burying his face in Louis shoulder and crying unashamedly. Harry only just manages to save his hand from being squished.

 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Dan chants, wiping his eyes distractedly as he pulls away.

 

“Mum said just you,” Louis tells him, “I’m okay with it, promise. Just go.”

 

Dan smiles at him and then kisses the top of his head before turning to Harry and offering a hand. Harry shakes it quickly and firmly, earning a smile and a casual hair ruffle. When Dan disappears inside the room, the screaming picks up, escalating into one long, loud uninterrupted scream.

 

Louis’ sisters appear from behind the corner and Harry somehow ends up holding Daisy’s and Phoebe’s hands while Louis tries to deal with the conflicting needs of his other two sisters who are both trying to have separate conversations with him. After what seems like forever, the screaming stops and the door flies open, banging against the wall. All six of them, including Harry, appear to be holding their breath and Harry can feel Daisy’s hand shaking in his. He squeezes it gently.

 

It’s Dan who appears in the doorway with bloodshot eyes and a manic grin on his face that stretches it wide.

 

“We’ve got two healthy babies,” he shouts and throws his arms wide, beckoning to his family which all hurtle towards him, knocking him back through the doorway with the force of their hug.

 

Harry stays where he is, toeing awkwardly at the floor, unsure as to what he’s supposed to do. This is a family moment. A Tomlinson family moment. He’s not a Tomlinson. He hears the sounds of the girls cooing and asking Jay questions as they crowd around the bedside but he doesn’t look up until he feels two hands tugging at his curls, forcing his head up.

 

“Haz,” Louis says, confusion and softness colouring his tone, “what are you doing out here?”

 

“I— “Harry’s Adam’s apple swells and he shifts his gaze past Louis to the doorway, “I’m not one of you. It’s not my…your mum doesn’t even know me.”

 

“Harry.”

 

There’s a weird kind of disbelief in Louis’ tone. Like Harry’s just said something truly heartbreaking when all he’s stated is the truth. Louis takes his hand and clutches it, their fingers bending into each other like they were never meant to be kept apart.

 

“Come with me,” Louis pleads.

 

Harry looks down at him and wishes he hadn’t. The last rays of sunlight are filtering through the window and coating Louis’ tanned skin in a warm glow that makes him shimmer and shine. His hair is all messy and soft looking and the blue of his eyes is like a melted down crystal, bleeding fondness, as he smiles at Harry. The edges of his jumper sleeve tickle Harry’s hand where their fingers meet. Harry just nods mutely because he’s not capable of speaking to Louis when he’s busy not falling into the spiralling colours inside his eyes. Louis tugs him inside the hospital room.

 

“Mum, this is Harry. My close friend,” Louis says and Harry’s legs turn to jelly.

 

He’s not even looking at Louis’ mum because Louis says _close_ with a rough, wafer thin tone and he doesn’t take his hand away. He actually squeezes tighter. It’s only when Louis squeezes his hand a second time and tilts his head toward the bed that Harry is finally able to break his gaze. However the image he sees when he does so ruins his composure all over again.

 

A worn out but elated looking Jay is leaning against the head rest with two babies wrapped in identical green knitted blankets lying in her lap, one occupying each arm. She smiles up at him like he’s just the sweetest surprise she’s had all day and then quietly orders the rest of the family to give them a minute. Once alone, Jay beckons them both closer and then motions for them to lean down and look at the babies. Jay’s hand roves across Harry’s curls and he looks up to find her doing the same to Louis.

 

“Lovely to meet you Harry,” she whispers, sounding absolutely exhausted, “these are the newest editions to our brood. Doris and Ernest.”

 

Harry’s in love with the perfect bow of Doris’ lips who’s tucked in the blanket with the D stitched in white. Her mouth is small and rather sharp at the ends, just like Louis’ and Harry can see the perfect white colour of her skin and the dusting of fine blonde hair across her head.

 

Ernest has thick dark eyelashes that flutter as he sleeps and huge, chubby fists that look so adorable, crossed over each other and tucked tightly against his chest. They’re both tiny Tomlinson’s. They remind Harry of his favourite tiny Tomlinson who’s currently gazing down at them with wonderstruck, heart shaped blue eyes, his fringe falling across his face and obscuring his view slightly. Harry pushes it away for him without thinking about it, scratching Louis’ scalp a bit before pulling away. When his eyes drop back down, Jay’s looking at him with hope and wonder.

 

“They’re perfect,” Louis sighs and kisses his mum’s cheek.

 

Louis tries to pull back but Jay holds tight, keeping him in her embrace, just above the babies and murmuring things into his shoulder.

 

“I love you,” Jay says when they pull back.

 

Harry steps back slightly and neither mother nor son notice. He feels like he’s intruding again so he stands by the door, watching them like the creep he is. He can see the tears shining in Jay’s eyes and he knows it’s more than exhaustion. It’s her beautiful family and the realisation that they’re so undeniably blessed to have each other. It’s the two new little lives that she has to care for. Just two more children to love. Harry can see in her expression that this is what she was made to do. She’s a natural born mother and it makes Harry’s throat close over with hurt and longing. Why couldn’t he have somebody like this in his life? Why doesn’t his mother ever tell him she loves him? Maybe she doesn’t.

 

“I love you too,” Louis says and then presses kisses to each baby’s cheeks, “and I love my new baby brother and sister. You did so well mum. I don’t know how you do it.”

 

“It’s worth it,” Jay sighs, gazing lovingly down at Doris and Ernest.

 

Louis nods his agreement. When he reaches out to stroke Ernest’s tiny plum sized cheek, Harry can see the tremble of his finger. He can see the emotion building in his expression and the love in the curve of his muted smile. He’s overwhelmed in the best way and Harry is overwhelmed just looking at him. This captivating man with a disaster zone of a life who has this convoluted but incredible family behind him who want so very much for him to be happy.

 

It’s too much. Harry is so selfish. He shuffles out of the room, praying Louis doesn’t notice and ignoring the curious looks of his family as he sweeps down the corridor, gathering more speed because of the emotions that rise up, blurring his vision and blocking his throat. He’s so happy for Louis. _So_ happy for Jay. There’s just a gaping wound inside him and he’s never felt it as poignantly as he does now, surrounded by a family that supports each other through thick and thin. A family bound together through intimacy and love rather than money or obligation. A family that made Harry feel welcome and w _anted_ with hugs and kindness. He was only stuck on the outer because he’d been completely unprepared to meet a family like them; a family with so much heart. He hadn’t been able to let himself be completely enveloped by their warmth, too accustomed to the aura of iciness in his own home.

 

Harry’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back against his car in the carpark of the hospital. He doesn’t bother to stop the tears easing down the slopes of his cheeks. He feels like a prat for walking out with an explanation but it would be far worse if he had broken down in there trying to explain. He couldn’t imagine trying to tell Louis why watching him with Jay was both miraculous and torturous.

 

How could Harry explain that seeing someone look at Louis with gentle affection and touch him with such evident love gave Harry hope that maybe not all the corners of Louis’ life were filled with cobwebs and haunted memories? That seeing Louis with his family only made Harry more certain that Duncan did not deserve him. More importantly, how could Harry tell him the other side? That he wasn’t strong enough to ignore his own yearning for just a hint of that familial closeness he’d never had.

 

He has it with Gemma of course but Louis has so much. He has Lottie, the child who’s not a child, who just wants so much good for him. He has Fizzy, the brat who’s not a brat who so clearly idolises her brother. Phoebe, the outspoken sweetheart and Daisy, the gentle spirit who looks as though a brisk wind would blow her over. Not to mention Dan and Jay who need Louis almost as much as Louis needs them and the new set of twins who Harry thinks will fall under Louis’ spell just as quickly as everybody else. He fears they’ll never recover, although he might be projecting…

  
“Harry?” Louis calls and then sighs, relieved, as he obviously spots Harry leaning back against the car, “Harry… I just came down to—oh my god, Harry…you’re crying. Are you okay?”

 

Harry opens his eyes and Louis is rushing towards him across the car park. Harry catches him by the arms, steadying him. He wipes at his tears but they continue to run down his face, defying his wishes. Louis doesn’t say a word for a moment and neither does Harry, Louis chewing on his mouth as he brings his hand up to pet Harry’s curls. It makes Harry hiccup gratefully so Louis scrunches his hand in deeper.

 

“Harry, _please_ ,” Louis’ voice is rough, “tell me what’s wrong. I can’t bear this.”

 

Harry’s words come tumbling out.

 

“I’m,” hiccup, “okay. I just…you. Y…you’re…you’re like superman to your family and I’m, I’m so happy for you,” Harry reaches a hand out to cup Louis’ cheek and feels wonder flood through to his toes because Louis’ eyes are shining much too bright, shimmering in the fluorescent light of the carpark with emotion summoned only by him, “because you need that. You need to know that you are that…t…t…to somebody…to everybody really but I’m,” hiccup, “I’m just thinking…because your mum loves you so much. She loves all of you so much and I, I just wondered if my mum or my dad ever wanted me like that.” Harry takes a deep breath, “or if they ever even wanted me at all.”

 

Louis’ eyes widen and then his eyebrows tilt down, crinkling along with his brow. He looks like he just swallowed a sour lemon and he steps closer, their hips lining up as Louis pushes up on his toes and grabs Harry’s face, stroking along his cheekbones. He’s pressing his body against Harry so insistently that Harry’s back winds up flush against the car. He’s losing the will to fight the instincts shooting through his veins like sparks of electricity. Louis doesn’t stop there though. Suddenly he’s massaging Harry’s temples as he leans close and brushes soft, wet kisses across Harry’s forehead and the sides of his face, rushed and seemingly without forethought.

 

“Harry _no_ ,” he whispers intensely, pushing his lips against Harry’s absent dimple. “Don’t you think,” he kisses Harry’s other cheek and then the top of his nose, “don’t you _ever_ dare think,” his lips are trailing down the side of Harry’s face and it’s incredible hard for Harry to remain stationery or to remember to breathe, “that you’re not meant to be here.”  


“Louis,” Harry sighs, pushing him away forcibly, his tears having stopped the moment Louis’ lips came into contact with his skin,

 

“Oh god Harry,” Louis’ fingers are pressed to his own lips in shock and Harry really wishes he’d stop drawing attention to his mouth, “god Haz, I’m so sorry.”

 

“No,” Harry encircles Louis’ waist with his arms and lifts him slightly, bringing their bodies back into full frontal contact, looking down at Louis through a haze of emotion as he pushes his fringe from his eyes, “it’s okay but I-“

 

“It’s not appropriate,” Louis interrupts with miserable blue eyes, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why but I...I just…”

 

Louis appears to lose his train of thought as Harry’s hand comes to rest on his lower back. Harry scrunches Louis’ hoodie in his fist just to ground himself.

 

“You just…”

 

“When I’m with you, I forget,” Louis says quickly, eyes darting away from Harry’s the moment Harry tries to get a read on them.

 

Harry grips the material tighter in his fist, tugging slightly to get Louis’ attention.

 

“Forget what Lou?”

 

Louis’ panicked blue eyes meet his.

 

“Forget everything. Everything but you.”

 

In a romantic comedy, this would be the moment that Harry would crush Louis against him and kiss him into oblivion. This isn’t a romantic comedy and Louis isn’t his happy ending. Louis is a one way road to “it’s complicated, do not enter” and Harry is not looking for complicated. He’s not even looking for love for Christ’s sake. He’s always said that if it finds him, so be it but it would have to be with someone who wouldn’t change him. Someone who wouldn’t destroy the life he’s slowly carving out for himself. Louis is a one way ticket to the destruction of everything Harry’s ever known.

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Harry,” Louis tilts his head, just gazing at him for a while before finally continuing, “I don’t know that your parents really wanted you. I don’t know if you being born was the best moment of their lives. I can be honest about that but you know what I do know? I know that there’s so many people that are happy you exist. Zayn, Niall, Liam, Gem and… _me_. You’re so wanted Haz, I promise and I want you to promise me something in return.”

 

Harry nods his head obediently and Louis bends his feet, stretching up to get his eyes level with Harry’s. Harry wraps an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

 

“I want you to promise me you’ll never wonder too much about how they feel about you because honestly love, it doesn’t matter. It’s of no consequence. They don’t love you in the way you deserve and that’s enough of a crime. They don’t get to take away your self-worth too. Don’t let them. My family loves you Harry. My sisters would all happily walk down the aisle with you tomorrow, much to my horror and I saw how mum looked at you. She probably wants to marry me off to you,” Louis huffs and Harry’s lips twitch. Louis misses it, thank god, “so from now on, if you need that unconditional love or whatever, if you want to be a part of it, you are. You’re an honorary Tomlinson.”

 

He squeezes Harry’s waist, a crinkly eyed smile spreading over his lips as Harry’s dimples reappear. Harry just tries not to melt into a puddle.

 

“Harry Tomlinson,” Louis says with a wink.

 

 _Oh god_ , _is he doing that on purpose_? Does he know what he’s doing to Harry’s insides?

 

“You’re not funny,” Harry says, tapping Louis on the nose.

 

It scrunches adorably beneath his finger. Harry doesn’t realise he’s echoed one of Louis’ previous texts. Not until Louis frames his chin with his hands and bats his eyelashes up at him like a complete menace.

 

“I’m charming though… right?”

 

Harry wastes no time in rugby tackling him, closing his arms around Louis’ waist and throwing the smaller lad over his shoulder. He tickles Louis’ side as he walks toward the corner of the car park, Louis’ legs swaying in the air.

 

“What are you doing?” Louis squeals between helpless giggles.

 

“Taking you to that wheelie bin over there. Gonna dump you in it to punish you for being so pretty.”

 

There’s an awkward beat of silence so Harry lightly slaps his bum to garner some kind of response. Louis giggles again.

 

“Harry, no!” Louis squeals.

 

“Harry, yes.”

 

By the time they get to the bin, Louis’ laughing so hard  that his breaths are coming out in these action movie like gasps that people tend to do after a particularly strenuous chase through the woods.

 

“You ready?” Harry asks, turning to lower Louis into the bin.

 

“No, Harry!” Louis whines.

 

“Yes, Harry!” Harry mimics, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

 

Then he lets Louis down into the near empty bin and Louis groans.

 

“I’ve got yoghurt in my hair. _Yoghurt_ Harold. Get me the fuck out!”

 

Harry’s peal of laughter is long and loud but he pulls Louis from the bin and plants him on his feet. His laughter only gains momentum because of the look on Louis’ face and the smell of the strawberry yoghurt that’s stretching between the ends of his hair, lumps of raw strawberry dotted in between. There’s one tiny droplet of the stuff on his lip. Louis glares at him balefully until Harry pulls him close by the arm and brings his thumb to Louis’ mouth.

 

“What are you-“

 

Harry puts his pointer finger just inside Louis’ mouth to prevent him from moving his lips and Louis’ whole body stiffens.

 

“Just don’t move your lips or else you’ll end up with it in your mouth,” Harry advises and then brushes away the droplet, his finger memorising every dip and moisture filled line in Louis’ bottom lip.

 

“Thank you,” Louis says and then collects half of the yoghurt from his hair and wipes it down Harry’s cheek, “you prat.”

 

Harry’s not even bothered. He just grins stupidly at Louis and makes a funny face. Louis chuckles and then crosses his eyes, poking his cute little tongue out too.

 

“You have a cute tongue,” Harry mumbles.

 

He claps a hand over his mouth instantly as he realises his mistake. Louis stares at him for a moment and then erupts into raucous laughter.

 

“You’re a weird guy. You have a cute…” Louis’ eyes trail up and down his body for a few times before he pushes his pointer finger into Harry’s cheek, “dimple.”

 

The dimple deepens.

 

“Shall we go back?” Harry gestures towards the hospital.

 

Louis shakes his head, still smiling and looking fairly content.

 

“Nah. I’m going to come back tomorrow. Once I noticed you were gone, I figured it was time to leave anyway because mum was absolutely knackered. Got to bring the new art work that I did for the babies’ room tomorrow. I forgot it in the rush.”

 

Harry tampers down his smile by 50% but he knows it’s still disturbingly fond.

 

“Okay big brother, let’s get you home,” he says, tugging Louis back towards the car by the hand.  


“So you can make me dinner?”

 

Louis’ mouth is quirked in a mischievous smile and his eyes sparkle with humour. Harry just runs his thumb along Louis’ knuckles and lets sincerity colour his tone, enjoying the way Louis’ pupils change size in response.

 

“So I can make you dinner,” he confirms.

 

…….

 

“Sit.”

 

Harry pushes him down into a chair at the dining room table and Louis just as quickly rebounds out of it.

 

“ _Sit_ ,” Harry repeats, this time with a disturbing amount of emphasis.

 

Louis jumps up again.

 

“Do you ever do anything people tell you to do?” Harry huffs.

 

Then his expression freezes in place and Louis is confused for a moment before… _Duncan_. He does what Duncan tells him to do.

 

“Nope,” Louis says, beaming up at Harry and feigning ignorance.

 

“C’mon then.”

 

Harry pulls him into the kitchen and then before Louis can even think about snacking on whatever organic, hipster food Harry probably has in his kitchen, he’s being hoisted up onto the counter by the waist. He ignores the way his body thrills to the touch, too much affected by the way Harry manhandles him.

 

“You enjoy picking me up, don’t you?” Louis accuses.

 

Harry points to the exact point where Louis’ lips have betrayed him, lifting up at the sides.

 

“You enjoy being picked up, don’t you?”

 

“You drive me crazy Styles.”

 

“You drive me craaaaaazy,” Harry sings in a deep rumble, placing his heavy palms on Louis’ thighs and squeezing gently.

 

Louis’ inner thighs burn, wanting for Harry to spread his fingers. They have a mind of their own. It’s got nothing to do with Louis.

 

“Don’t sing Britney,” Louis discourages, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

 

“But,” Harry pouts and leans closer, finally spreading his fingers out and dissolving Louis’ nerve endings in the process, “baby…one more time?”

 

There’s someone kicking a football around Louis’ insides. That’s the only logical explanation for this topsy-turvy feeling that makes him feel as though his stomach is being launched up and over a series of waves, rising and dipping and making Louis’ head feel fuzzy. _Baby_. It’s a song, no need to read anything into it.

 

“You’re hilarious,” Louis says with no inflection.

 

Harry takes this as permission to get closer, wrapping his hands around the sides of Louis’ thighs now and squeezing the backs of them. Then he lifts Louis off the counter and suddenly his palms are covering Louis’ bum as he pulls Louis against his stomach and Louis is left with no choice but to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist. This is wrong, so wrong but he feels _small_ in the best way and Harry is spinning him around, throwing his head back to expose his creamy throat and singing at the top of his lungs.

 

“I’m not a girrrrrrl, not yet a woman!”

 

Louis buries his embarrassingly feminine giggle in Harry’s shoulder but Harry’s hand finds the back of his hair. He can feel Harry’s fond smile even though he can’t see it so he lets his laughter burst free for a moment. He follows it by beating Harry’s chest and begging to be let down. Harry places him back on the counter and then leans in, placing his palms on either side of Louis’ waist, biting his lip and looking somehow sexy and self-conscious at the same time. _Christ_.

 

“Problem hipster?”

 

“Are you having fun? Am I,” Harry coughs, “you know…good company?”

 

Louis’ cheesy smile is entirely the fault of those weepy green eyes that just beg to be reassured. Louis likes this side of Harry. So soft and pliable. So…needy.

 

“Just fine,” Louis promises, pushing Harry’s curls back so he looks less like a crestfallen poodle.

 

“You touched my curls a lot today,” Harry says with a head tilt, his hair flopping over his cheeks.

 

“You touched _my_ hair a lot today,” Louis counters.

 

Harry’s fingers slide across his cheek and into the side of his hair, massaging his head.

 

“I like touching your hair.”

 

Harry looks nervous when his eyes jump to Louis’. There’s a chaotic beat to the fluttering of eyelashes and a patchy pink colour stealing over the creaminess of his cheeks. That’s not to mention the way he leans ever so subtly away, expecting rejection. Louis doesn’t pull him back even if his skin is begging for just that.

 

“I like touching yours too,” Louis admits with a swollen heart.

 

Their eyes pass over and through each other’s for a beat too long and Louis just wishes he could tell his entire body to _settle_ but it won’t. It’s just Harry, he tells it but suddenly the name Harry has this heavy, meaningful connotation that it never had before now. Harry Styles is messing him up royally and for no reason that Louis can hope to decipher.

 

“Right, food,” Harry announces, slapping his hands against his thighs.

 

He’d changed into a loose pair of jeans as soon as they’d got back while Louis had disappeared into his flat to shower away the sticky yoghurt in his hair. The looseness of the jeans does nothing for the killer pair of legs Harry has but when Harry turns to root through his cupboard, they fall just slightly to expose the top of his briefs and the start of the precious curve that belongs to his tiny, pert bum.

 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

 

Louis panics.

 

“What? I wasn’t-“

 

“You’re thinking I’m probably going to make you some organic, freakishly healthy dish that tastes like bird food.”

 

Louis breathes an inward sigh of relief.

 

“Well-“

 

“I’m just going to do pasta,” Harry holds up a packet of noodles and shakes a jar of ready-made sauce, “but be warned, I am going to cook for you proper at some point.”

 

“And what does that involve?”

 

“A tiny tattoo artist for an assistant.”

 

Harry is now smirking at him from the bench beside him. He’s fiddling with the knobs on the hot plate and filling a saucepan with a splash of oil. Louis pretends to look around the kitchen, lifting up the tea towel beside him and inspecting the space beneath it.

 

“Sorry, don’t see any tiny tattoo artists anywhere.”

 

“You’re tiny Lou. I could fit you in my little pocket,” Harry says with a wink.

 

Louis rolls his eyes.

 

“You top don’t you?”

 

Harry’s smile dims and he turns to the fridge, foraging through it for a few moments before reappearing with a packet of beef mince.

 

“I-is this appropriate?” Harry asks, a confused set of wrinkles spanning the space of his brow.

 

Louis shrugs. Maybe his defences have receded too much. Maybe it’s the babies and his mum making him go all soft. Or maybe it’s just Harry. Maybe it’s just that he really does forget that there’s a whole world outside of this one when he’s staring into the never ending green of Harry’s eyes.

 

“I top…yes,” Harry admits, “I’ve bottomed before but it was…”

 

Harry flips his hand from side to side in a gesture that Louis takes to mean ‘so and so.’

 

“Knew it,” Louis says, “you like smaller boys, don’t you?”

 

Harry looks a little put off by the conversation and Louis wonders if he might have taken it too far but Harry just dumps the mince in the pot and then moves to lift Louis off the counter. He pauses just before doing so.

 

“May I?” He asks, his eyelashes beating down against his cheeks fast.

 

His eyelids drop, the small crescents of green that lie beneath focused intently on Louis. Louis nods. Harry lifts him off the counter and places him on the floor but doesn’t take his hands away like Louis expects. Instead he runs his hands down Louis’ waist to his hips and then back up, almost to his armpits, lifting him back up onto the counter immediately after.

 

“I like that,” he exhales, breaking up the meat with a wooden spoon while avoiding Louis’ eyes.

 

 Louis’ own are glued to his face, analysing his locked jaw and the stuttering jump of his pupils.

 

“What?”

 

“I like…” Harry looks up at the far corner of the ceiling as he answers, “small waists…small chests. My palms could probably span the entire width of your chest.”

 

Harry says it like it’s an intellectual fact. Like it’s something interesting that just occurred to him. Louis must be insane. His heart races and his nipples pebble beneath the softness of his jumper because he can’t help imagining Harry’s hands on him.

 

_You drive me crazy, Styles_

 

……

 

“You’ve got a bit of…just here. The side of your mouth. Here, let me get it.”

 

Harry rubs at the corner of his lip, wiping away the sauce spatter before sucking his thumb into his mouth. Louis’ stomach jumps.

 

“You’re disgusting.”

 

Harry grins.

 

“Perhaps but you have to admit, it tastes good.”

 

_Me or the sauce?_

_Not you, you dickhead._

“It’s mediocre at best,” Louis lies, drawing his tongue in a full circle around his mouth to get anything else he might have missed.

 

It makes Harry laugh but not boisterously. Not that chesty, hacking cough-laugh. Instead it’s low and weirdly seductive, like he took a class in sexy laughter. Lesson one, tilt your head back just enough to expose a throat that’s begging to be kissed. Lesson two, let your eyes slip closed and a quiet, breathy chuckle slip out. Lesson three, you will have surely ruined everybody else in the room by this point so your work is done.

 

Louis hates people like that. People who are so effortlessly attractive that it hurts him just to look at them. Harry’s long legs are folded beneath him on the couch and his curls fall in soft waves around his face as he watches Louis watching him, seemingly content. As though the whole moment isn’t bursting with this weird tension. Maybe that’s just Louis.

 

“I should probably go.”

 

Harry nods but he’s smiling, his full lips twitching with humour. He gets up and then drops down into a crossed legged position on the floor, fiddling with the DVD player. He flaps his knees like a child as his other hand reaches out to scratch Hugh Grant whose head is nudging his knee.

 

When Hugh Grant gets more insistent and starts mewling, Harry leans down and rubs his face all across the kitten’s. He whispers something indecipherable to Louis and then plants a soft kiss on the top of the cockroach’s head. This only makes said cockroach purr louder, seeking more attention from his beloved father. Louis wants to cry. Nobody can be that adorable by accident. Not that he’s thinking about Harry. He meant the furry cockroach with the fishy breath and sandpaper tongue. Truly, so…adorable.

 

“What are you going to do?” Louis asks against his better judgement.

 

Harry twists his body to face him, a smirk running over his lips, like he expected Louis to ask exactly that. Louis hates himself.

 

“Watch friends. Maybe make myself a hot chocolate or,” Harry bites his lip and Louis spots the growing glimmer of humour in his eye, “maybe some tea.”

 

Louis’ voice comes out pathetically whiny.

 

“With biscuits?”

 

Harry nods and his whole body is trembling with laughter. Louis pretends it isn’t happening.

 

“What season of friends?”

 

“The one where Ross and Rachel…you know,” Harry answers with a grin as he waggles his eyebrows.

 

Louis’ eyes light up.

 

“That’s the name of the episode!”

 

“I know,” Harry says, looking impressed with himself.

 

“Good god,” Louis mutters to himself before raising his voice, “Styles, I’m staying okay. That a problem?”

 

Harry shakes his head and then turns on the television, swapping it over to the DVD channel and pressing play on the remote. He then hurries off into the kitchen to prepare a hot chocolate for himself and tea for Louis. When he comes back and pushes the tea into Louis’ hand, Louis pouts up at him with puppy dog eyes.

 

“Biscuits? You said biscuits.”  


Harry rolls his eyes but his expression tells Louis there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than looking after him. He’s Mr-Fix-It and if he thinks he can fix everything that’s wrong with Louis’ life with a night like this, well Louis’ not going to tell him he can’t just yet. Besides which, being around Harry is rather like taking a sedative. When Louis’ with him, the background noise and the chaos of his situation; all the associated anxiety, hurt and anger just fades away. Louis feels at peace.

 

“Thank you,” Louis sings when Harry dumps the sweet biscuits in his lap.

 

Harry pulls the throw blanket off the back off the couch and offers it to Louis who takes it and then tries to spread it over them both. However it’s rather short.

 

“C’mere,” Louis beckons to Harry, “it won’t reach.”

 

So Harry scoots over on the couch and Louis takes the opportunity to throw his legs over Harry’s lap, covering them both with the blanket before leaning his head back against the head rest.

 

“Tired?” Harry asks, ignoring the TV completely.

 

Louis nods and Harry responds by running his fingers through the front of Louis’ hair, drawing a low whine from his throat.

 

“Can I ask…something?” Harry says, pulling his hand away but placing it on Louis’ ankle instead.

 

Louis’ feeling rather relaxed so he nods.

 

“Why wasn’t Duncan with you today? You said he took the car? I thought you had your own car.”  


Louis’ whole face tightens at the mention of his boyfriend. He doesn’t like to think about him when he’s with Harry. Harry’s presence just alleviates that pressure in Louis’ mind, that voice that’s constantly criticising him and urging him to be better for Duncan. When Harry looks at him, he ceases to feel that same worthlessness.

 

“I…we do. Have separate cars I mean…but Duncan had to take his to the mechanic and he had to go away for his…job and-“

 

“You don’t sound too sure about that?” Harry asks with raised eyebrows.

 

There’s no presumption there. There’s no assumption that something untoward must be going on and that Louis must leave Duncan. There’s just a question and whatever answer Louis feels comfortable giving.

 

“It’s just,” Louis struggles to compose himself for a moment, “he goes away so much,” his voice breaks a little, “and I don’t know. I just—never mind. I can’t, I can’t talk to you about this.”

 

Harry rubs Louis’ shoulder beneath the blanket, his eyes boring into Louis’ with such strength that Louis wonders if Harry’s afraid of anything at all. Then he quickly recalls Harry’s breakdown from earlier that night. Harry’s afraid that his parents are right about him and that people won’t want him. He’s afraid they’ll regret him just like his parents seem to.

 

“You can Lou. You can tell me anything.”

 

Louis pulls Harry’s hand off his shoulder but squeezes it to soften the blow. He really needs to start establishing a strict no-inappropriate-touching policy. Perhaps no touching at all. The problem is that the more Harry touches him, the more Louis wants Harry to touch him.

 

“I can’t Haz. It’s not…it’s between me and Duncan.”

 

Harry looks wounded and he turns his head to the TV, sighing quietly. Louis doesn’t think Harry even realises he’s done so. He just looks…crestfallen. Perhaps because of how far they’ve come in just one day. They were so intimate with each other, the barriers that existed before today falling away in the midst of the emotional atmosphere. Now those barriers are back in place and Harry’s face is all scrunched up with displeasure or deep thought. Perhaps both.

 

“Harry.”

 

Harry turns his head instantly when he hears the soft tone of Louis’ voice.

 

“I’m sorry we can’t—I’m sorry that I can’t be close to you.”

 

Louis’ not sure what he’s even saying with that, whether he’s letting Harry know that they can’t be friends or whether he’s simply letting him know that they can’t be friends the way they’d both perhaps like to. Harry seems to deduce something from it though because he nods, smiling a touch wistfully before turning back to the TV.

 

Louis watches him for ten minutes, waiting for a comment or a smile. Any sign that they’re still connected somehow. Louis needs it. He’s not sure why but he needs Harry’s warmth. The idea that he needs Harry himself is terrifying, especially when Harry looks so determined to respect Louis’ wishes and keep his distance.

 

Louis turns on his side to watch the TV, curling his legs up slightly and bringing his fists up to rest beneath his chin, kind of like Ernest had today at the hospital. Louis feels Harry’s hand on his thigh and he can’t help the small pulse of relief. They’re still something. Maybe not what it felt like they were becoming all day long but…something, something that makes Louis’ lips arc higher as Harry begins to run his hand up and down Louis’ thigh, comforting him without any intent to do so.

 

……

 

Harry wakes up to something tickling his nose and his mouth. Hugh Grant must be sleeping on his face again. He really wishes he’d stop doing that. A face full of cat bum is not the ideal way to wake up in the morning. He shudders to think what he must be breathing in. Except when he opens his eyes, it’s to brown fur instead of grey. Brown hair. _Oh_.

 

Harry’s lips and nose are buried in the top of Louis’ messy brown hair where it rests against the head rest. As wakefulness washes over him, he becomes distinctly aware of just how perilous the current situation is. His arm is slung over Louis’ waist and his hand stretches up towards Louis’ chest, his palm lying flat in the centre of his pectorals. Louis’ tiny fingers are clinging to Harry’s palm, holding it there.

 

Harry’s other arm is resting just beneath Louis’ head and Louis’ body is bent slightly. It curves into Harry’s, meaning that his plump, deliciously ample bum is pushed right up against Harry’s crotch. Right up against his morning wood to be exact. If Harry moves one inch, his dick will most certainly rub against the seam of Louis’ bum and Harry’s not sure he can handle that. He’s not sure he won’t cream his briefs like a randy teenage boy if that happens.

 

Louis’ breaths are too deep for him to be awake but it doesn’t lesson Harry’s anxiety that he will wake up at any moment and feel Harry’s thickness pushing up against his arse, most definitely coming to the wrong conclusion. Well, partly wrong. Harry can’t deny that his semi is now fully hard and that he’s having to concentrate really hard on not thrusting.

 

The only distraction from his thoughts comes when Louis sighs in his sleep and squeezes Harry’s hand where it lies on his chest. Harry’s whole body tingles with contentment. It’s like the feeling you get when you slip into a hot spa or a bubble bath and that warmth seeps into your bones, stealing over your skin as you shudder with pleasure.

 

Harry doesn’t know how they wound up like this. He remembers turning off the TV when Louis had fallen asleep but he’d been going to wake him or at least depart to his own bed, really he had. He’d just hesitated, resting his head back against the couch and watching Louis’ eyelids tense and then smooth out. Watching him as he fisted the blanket and rolled onto his side, rubbing his head against the pillow Harry retrieved.

 

Next thing he knew, he woke up like this, wrapped around Louis, seemingly sheltering him from the rest of the world with his body. The fact of the matter is that it feels good. It feels _right_ to have his legs tangled up in Louis’ with Louis holding onto his hand like his life depends on it. Harry’s not able to deny the fact that this is the best thing he’s ever woken up to but… _Louis_.

 

Louis has a Duncan and a fear of getting too close to Harry for god knows what reason. Louis apologised to him for not being able to be close to him and Harry had thought he knew what that meant. Louis can’t have the kind of friendship where there are no barriers in terms of touching. He can’t give himself to Harry in a way that resembles the way he gives himself to Duncan. But what if what he’d really meant was that they can’t be friends at all?

 

When he touched Louis’ thigh, Louis hadn’t protested and when he moved his hand up and down, he thought he’d seen Louis’ lips curl upward. Maybe he’d been wrong. What if Louis wakes up to them tangled up like this and never wants to see him again? The thought makes Harry squeeze Louis’ shirt, fisting it needily with his palm.

 

He can feel Louis’ rapid heartbeat beneath it and he wonders if everything about Louis is like that. Tortured and turbulent. His mind, his heart, his relationship. All of it seems to have this common theme. It’s like Louis keeps himself spinning because if he stops he might have to take stock of how off balance his world really is. If he just keeps moving, he never has to look around at his surroundings. He can keep blaming himself.

 

Just then, Louis moves, stretching his legs out and rubbing his bum down along Harry’s cock in the process. Harry’s gasp transitions into a hiss as Louis continues to squirm and wriggle and it’s so damn torturous, Harry’s beginning to think Louis must be doing it on purpose. Then he hears Louis’ quiet whimpers.

 

“No, no. _Please_. I love you….please,” he whines, low in his throat.

 

Harry’s heart is halfway up his throat as he carefully plies his hand from Louis’ grasp and then winds his arm securely around Louis’ waist, tugging the both of them up together so that Louis’ sitting in his lap. Louis still doesn’t wake, his head hanging back against Harry’s shoulder as he twitches, his face clenching with what looks like pain. Harry doesn’t know he’s dreaming about Duncan for sure but he can guess that it’s the case. It horrifies him that this might be some reflection of real life.

 

“Baby, please,” Louis rasps, bouncing his bum in Harry’s lap like he’s trying to get away from something.

 

Harry’s looking down on Louis whose head is lolling back against his shoulder and all he wants to do is to comfort.

 

“Louis,” he says insistently, “Louis, wake up.”

 

Louis’ eyes fly open and he doesn’t even jump or appear startled. He’s trembling all over but he simply blinks up at Harry, with trusting, wide eyes.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Are you okay? You had a bad dream. We fell asleep together and I…I was trying to rouse you but even when I sat us up, you just-“

  
“It wasn’t real,” Louis says quickly, scooting sideways off Harry’s lap, “it wasn’t real Harry. He never…I never. I don’t,” Louis’ eyes fall to his lap, “I don’t ask him to stop.”

 

“But he’s rough with you? He knows it hurts,” Harry states without question.

 

Louis doesn’t respond. He brings his sleeve to his mouth and chews on it for a moment, frowning at his feet.

 

“Can I—can we have pancakes? I don’t know how to make them but-“

 

Harry would do anything to smooth the pain from Louis’ features. Including ignoring the issue. For now. He takes Louis’ hand from his mouth and encloses it in his own, pulling Louis up from the couch.

 

“C’mon, I’ll make you smiley pancakes,” Harry promises.

 

Louis looks up at him with a hint of a lopsided smile and his hair is sticking out in a million different directions, making the image a hell of a lot cuter. He looks like a tentative, sleepy hedgehog.

 

“Smiley pancakes?”

 

“The highest form of culinary art,” Harry explains with a wink.

 

Louis tries to bury a giggle in his hand, forgetting that his hand is joined to Harry’s. Harry’s own laugh booms out of his chest at Louis’ sleep addled disgruntlement.

 

…….

 

“Thank you for your hospitality….again,” Louis says.

 

Harry can’t help himself. He slides his arms around Louis’ waist, squeezing his sides as he pulls him up onto his toes and into a huge hug.

 

“Thank you for letting me meet your family.”

 

“We should….hang out again.”

 

Harry lets Louis go with surprise.

 

“Really?”

 

Louis pats his shoulder.

 

“Really.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says, suddenly feeling shy.

 

Louis watches him with a half-smile, hanging off the side of Harry’s door and looking like a whimsical little pixie about to flit away as soon as Harry turns his back.

 

“Okay,” Louis echoes.

 

“Bye,” Harry says slowly, not wanting to close the door.

 

Louis steps back and winks, a sinful smirk on his lips that makes Harry’s heart stutter.

 

“Bye.”

 

Harry reluctantly pushes the door closed but just before it clicks into the lock, Louis’ hand slides in between to stop it from doing so. Harry throws the door open wide and looks at Louis with horror.

 

“I could have squished your hand,” he squeaks in surprise.

 

Louis laughs at him and then pushes his stomach playfully.

 

“Calm yourself hipster. I was just thinking…” Louis’ smirk turns into a more natural smile and his eyes skip over Harry’s nervously, “what if we hung out again…today?”

 

“Okay,” Harry agrees eagerly which makes Louis’ whole face light up with delight.

 

“What will we do?” Harry asks him.

 

Louis shrugs.

 

“You tell me.”

 

An intriguing idea forms in Harry’s head and he runs back through his flat, ignoring Louis’ shout of, “where the hell are you going Harold?” When he returns, he has one helmet under his arm and he hands the other to Louis.

 

“What the hell is this?” Louis asks none too politely.

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

“What do you think it is?”

 

“You don’t have a motorbike,” Louis says with narrowed eyes.

 

“No but Zayn does and he lets me borrow it whenever I want. Now go get changed into something more sturdy.”

 

Harry’s thrown a leather jacket over his shirt and has on some less feminine looking boots than usual. He’s wearing the black motorcycle boots that Zayn had bought him after he’d watched Harry ride off on the bike in bright purple boots that did nothing for his control of the thing.

 

“Okay,” Louis agrees.

 

He looks rather thrilled at the prospect of riding the motorbike so Harry counts his idea as a success.

 

…….

 

“Okay, give me the helmet.”

 

“Why would I give you my helmet?”

 

“So I can put it on you. Stop being so petulant.”

 

“Someone swallowed a dictionary.”

 

“ _Louis._ ”

 

“Okay just get on with it then Harold.”

 

Harry smiles and then steps closer to Louis. They’re standing outside Zayn’s building with the shiny black and silver motorcycle beside them and the last remaining dregs of sunlight warming their faces. They’d decided to go for lunch first and had ended up talking for far too long and nearly forgetting that the whole idea of going out in the first place was to go for a ride. Harry takes the helmet from Louis’ hands and places it down over his head, tightening the strap to ensure it fits Louis’ tiny head better. Louis glares at him the whole time. When Harry steps back, he smirks at Louis who crosses his arms and cocks his hip to the side.

 

“I feel ridiculous.”

 

“You look adorable.”

 

Louis blushes at this and snorts half-heartedly like the compliment means nothing. Harry knows differently. There’s something missing though. Louis’ got on a black Sabbath shirt and tight grey jeans with a pair of too big motorcycle boots that he’s obviously pinched from Duncan. He rubs at the tops of his arms with his fingers and looks out into the setting sun, the pinkish-orange colour of the sky setting off the clear blue colour of his eyes.

 

“You’re cold. Here,” Harry says as shucks off his leather jacket and hands it to Louis, knowing that it’s exactly what was missing.

 

Louis considers it for a moment with an indecipherable expression and then takes the jacket, shoving his arms through the sleeves and sighing irritably at the way they cover his hands. It makes Harry’s heart beat faster just to look at him. Louis in leather. Louis wearing _his_ leather jacket and _his_ motorcycle helmet.

 

“One last thing.”

 

Harry steps into Louis and squeezes his shoulder as he draws the zipper on the jacket up, stopping just before the jacket can close up over Louis’ collar bones because Harry _isn’t_ going to deny himself the simple pleasures of existence. Or the simple pleasures of _Louis’_ existence.

 

“Can we go now?” Louis asks impatiently.

 

Harry chuckles and gestures at the bike as if to say, “go on.”

 

“I don’t know how good you are on one of these things though so I’m going to….help.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and then throws his leg over the bike, putting it in neutral as Harry jumps on behind him, trying not to think too hard about how dominant and sexy Louis looks straddling the bike in leather and tight denim. Harry turns the petcock on and then the choke. He settles himself against Louis, scooting forward until his chest is pressed flush against Louis’ back. Then he tucks his head over Louis’ shoulder so he can see exactly what he’s doing. His hands come down next to Louis’ on the handlebars as Louis pulls out the kick starter and pushes down quickly, revving the bike a couple of times to get it going.

 

“You ready Styles?” He whispers.

 

Harry decides to trust Louis. He keeps his head in the crook of his shoulder but draws his hands back, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist instead. It’s much better this way anyway, feeling how tiny Louis is inside his arms and getting to hold him close. Harry squeezes his waist and nuzzles his chin against Louis’ shoulder, for purely logistical reasons of course. The closer he is to Louis, the less likely he is to go flying off the back.

 

“Ready Lou.”

 

Harry sees a dangerous glint enter Louis’ eye and his smile is devilish as he speeds out into the traffic and just narrowly avoids an oncoming car.

 

“LOUIS.”

 

Louis reaches behind him and pats Harry’s thigh, laughing raucously as he speeds down the road, darting in between cars and generally driving like some kind of lunatic. When they pass a sign with the speed limit, Louis’ smile twists up at the side and Harry squeezes him in protest.

 

“Louis, no!

 

“Louis yes!” Louis shouts.

 

They get pulled over twice by two different cop cars and Harry is quite sure that the only reason they’re not booked is because the first woman could barely think straight after Louis looked up at her from beneath his lashes and the man that pulled them over next was definitely a fan of tattooed twinks in leather.

 

“He was flirting with you,” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear as they come to a stop at a traffic light.

 

Louis tilts his head back against Harry’s chest to look at him upside down and Harry’s arms shoot out to grab the handlebars to keep the bike balanced.

 

“Was he?” Louis asks, grinning.

 

Harry’s mouth smiles too because it suddenly occurs to him how wondrously carefree Louis is about it. He’s not worrying about some crazy, possessive boyfriend who might find out. He’s genuinely having a good time. When they shoot off into traffic, Harry whispers in his ear again.

 

“You’re happy.”

 

Louis nods, a huge smile spreading his mouth wide. Then he turns and presses his soft lips against Harry’s cheek.

 

“Thank you,” he sighs as he turns back to the road.

 

Harry presses his own kiss to the space just below Louis’ ear, forgetting all about their unspoken agreement to keep their distance.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

……

 

Harry’s standing just outside Louis’ door, leaning over the smaller lad as Louis hands him back his jacket and the helmet.

 

“Thank you,” he says again and then pinches Harry’s hip.

 

Harry squeaks and returns the gesture, making Louis jump back. Louis mashes his face into the side of the door, giggling ridiculously. Are they flirting?

 

_God, we’re flirting._

“Is Duncan back?” Harry asks, noticing the resounding silence in the flat.

 

Louis twists his body back and then calls out.

 

“Duncan? Babe? You home?”

 

He turns back to Harry with less of a spark in his eye and a noticeable sense of resignation in the smile that’s quickly receding. He looks like a wilted flower.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Has he…has he called? I mean surely he’s called you.”

 

Louis’ face creases with pain and Harry knows immediately that he’s said the wrong thing. _Surely he’s called you. Idiot. Why did you say that?_

“ _Surely_ you can keep from asking about him,” Louis snaps, his eyes spelling hurt, “because _surely_ it’s none of your business whether he’s called or not.”

 

“Louis, I didn’t mean to-“

 

“I know exactly what you meant Harry. You think he’s broken me and you’ll swoop in and fix me and then we can all ride off into the sunset together. You, me, Zayn, Liam and Niall. You think you can be the “best friend” I never had,” Louis says, making air quotes as his bottom lip curls with anger, “and make up for everything…that maybe if you give me tea and a ride on Zayn’s bike, I won’t have problems anymore…that I won’t want him anymore. You think I’m pathetic and blind to it just like everybody else.”  


“No, Louis,” Harry pleads, his eyes bleeding sadness, “that’s not—I promise you I don’t…just please don’t…I just want to help-“

 

“You can’t fix this Harry. Stop trying,” Louis interrupts, his voice coming out too quiet, too calm.

 

He unexpectedly launches himself at Harry then, wrapping his arms around him even though he’s limited by the fact that there’s a helmet in Harry’s hands preventing their bodies from coming together. Louis’ head is on Harry’s shoulder, his hands buried in Harry’s curls and Harry thinks it’s alright. It must be alright.

 

“Bye,” Louis sighs in Harry’s ear, completely defeated and before Harry can think to pull him back, Louis is stepping back and shutting the door in his face.

 

Not again. Louis can’t do this to him again. Not when he’s given him so much the past few days, so much of himself. How is Harry supposed to recover from that when all he wants is more? How is he supposed to accept that there can be no more? He doesn’t beat on the door or text Louis. He doesn’t do anything but return to his flat and sink down into the couch, remembering the way he’d woken up that morning, so intertwined with Louis he didn’t think he’d ever get free. Why had he wanted to? Harry can think of nothing worse than being free from the vulnerable tattoo artist next door. He can think of nothing more disturbing than knowing and then losing Louis Tomlinson.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG  
> Is it a fetish if it's just one person? I dunno, I just kind of am in love with Louis' hands/wrists.  
> Also, I like fluff mixed in with jealousy mixed in with angst. So sorry for some awful parts but there's cute stuff too and there's a happy ending guaranteed I swear :)  
> Tell me what you think.  
> COMMENTS ARE TO ME, WHAT LOUIS' BUM IS TO HARRY ;)  
> Thanks for reading xxx

"Louis...babe? I'm home."  
  
Louis is currently tangled in the doona with one leg in and the other folded in half atop it. His head is buried in the pillow created by his arms. He'd just been dreaming but he couldn't quite catch the tail end of it. Something about rubber ducks and someone thrashing about in the bubbles. Louis remembers then. He was the one thrashing and Harry had been there in that stupid dressing gown, trying to pull him from the water with that stupidly pitiful look in his eyes. Louis had shoved him.

 

He could do it on his own. He wasn't going to drown. Water had filled his lungs and Harry's face had morphed into a blurry, undefined shape. His curls were smudged together and the green of his eyes was blurred but glittering still, as always. His mouth and his hands and the dressing gown all meshed into one, like someone had swirled a wet paintbrush around Harry and taken away all the sharpness of the image. The last thing Louis saw before he woke up was Harry's pink blur of a mouth which for a moment, came into sharper focus, shaping itself around a grief stricken "Louis, please."  
  
Louis hated his subconscious. Hated it for trying to make him feel guilty about slamming the door in Harry's face last night. Harry is the epitome of a helpless helper. He’s helpless against his own hero complex. He just had to try and do something about the state of Louis' life. Yes, Louis had been content to let Harry fuss over him with tea and biscuits and had even enjoyed the thrill of the motorbike ride and the way Harry had perhaps touched him a little too often in the time they'd spent together over the past two days. Yet that was different to what had happened last night. It was different because before then Louis had assumed Harry had been trying to make him happy.

 

He'd thought naively enough that Harry didn't see his life as some kind of mess that needed cleaning up, that he recognised that Louis just needed some time off and a reason to smile. He really had needed time. Time to forget the growing ball of distrust and unease forming in his stomach. Time to forget how much it hurt to see Duncan walk out the door without a second glance or a trace of regret.  
  
Harry may have appreciated Louis’ smile and the happiness he'd been able to drawn out but Louis was still his project. Louis was still the guy with a broken, fucked up relationship that needed to be saved because he didn't know any better. He wasn't strong enough on his own, or so Harry assumed.

 

 _Surely he would have called you_ , Harry had said. As if Louis was simply stupid for not expecting more and not needing it. Louis didn't need it...did he? Duncan had taken his time away and so had Louis. Now they could come back together and forget, couldn't they? They could forget that Duncan wasn't there when Louis needed him. They could forget that Louis has been more insolent lately and more resistant. They would forget. They had to.  
  
Harry doesn't understand. Harry hasn't dated anyone in years. How could he understand that inexorable pull that Louis feels toward Duncan? Whenever Louis gets too far, it's like a chain wrapped around his neck, bringing him back. That's what it has been like for them ever since Louis first fell in love with Duncan. Yet it was never more apparent than when their love became this fragile, turbulent whirlwind of a relationship that requires constant vigilance.

 

It’s like one of those games Louis used to have in his backyard when he was young...the metal pole with the ball hanging off a string that you'd hit around for fun. Louis is that ball. No matter how much he gets battered and smacked around, every time he flies out towards the sky and away from the racquet and the pole, he simply comes springing back. He’s connected to the pole. The pole holds him so close that he can’t possibly extend past a certain distance. Sometimes the pole is just an extension of him and he can’t separate the two. Duncan's needs are Louis' needs, Duncan's desires are his desires and Harry can preach all he'd like about it being okay for Louis to feel as he does but he doesn’t understand this.

 

He doesn’t understand that the hurt never stands alone. It’s coupled with years of belonging to someone and being afraid to only belong to yourself. It’s entangled with the kind of memories that you're constantly unfolding and retracing, depositing yourself in the past so you can remember the last time he kissed you, sweet and soft. It’s the memory of how he said he loved you for the first time. It’s the memory of how he opened you up in a way no one had done before and how he made you what you are. Harry can’t comprehend any of that and Louis knows it. Harry was wrong. Harry _is_ wrong. Louis' subconscious can go fuck itself.

 

“’M in bed still,” Louis shouts, as loud as he can manage when he’s parched from sleeping too long.

 

He hears Duncan’s heavy footfalls and then the sound of the suitcase being unceremoniously dumped on the floor by the bed. Then Duncan is on him, covering Louis’ body with his own and pressing lingering kisses to Louis’ exposed and sensitive neck. He presses one just below Louis’ ear and Louis giggles in response.

 

Duncan pulls back and Louis’ eyes flutter open to find Duncan looking at him confusion.

 

“Did you just giggle?”

 

Louis doesn’t giggle. Not if he can help it. Damn Harry. He’s awakened a giggly child inside of Louis and Louis will not stand for it.

 

“It was more of a…chuckle,” Louis argues, voice muffled with sleep as he reaches up and knits his hand in the back of Duncan’s hair.

 

Duncan just shrugs and collapses his arms, taking Louis by the mouth and pushing his tongue in slow and soft. Louis moans and meets his exploratory stroke, savouring the way Duncan’s hands trail down the sides of his face, to his neck and then to his shoulders, softly squeezing and rubbing. This is Duncan. Louis despises kissing with his morning breath but this is them. This is how they come back to each other.

 

“You’re back,” Louis sighs with contentment as they pull away, noses brushing, “I thought you’d stay longer. It’s only been two days.”

 

“I missed you so I begged the boss to let me come back. Even got today off just so we can go see the bubs.”

 

Louis pulls back from where he’d been nuzzling the side of Duncan’s neck with a surprised and dramatic gasp. He recovers quickly and pulls Duncan into a slightly more feverish kiss, wrapping his exposed leg around Duncan’s waist and rutting up against him slowly.

 

“I love you,” Louis whispers, brushing his lips along Duncan’s, “I knew you’d come through.”

 

“I always do babe,” Duncan smiles fondly at him and then presses another kiss to his lips, “so are you going to get up my sleepy little bug?”

 

Duncan hasn’t called him that since they first started dating and began sleeping at each other’s flats. It had become regular enough that Duncan had noticed Louis’ rather sedentary lifestyle. Louis had become accustomed to sleeping late in his line of work because his clientele knew him well enough not to expect regular working hours and thus he took to not providing them. His business mainly worked off of a “call me when you need me” mantra that he’d actually hung on the door at one point. That was only after he’d got a few too many angry customers complaining about the empty shop. Now they knew better.

 

“Nope,” Louis sighs his pleasure, “never.”

 

“In that case,” Duncan squeezes Louis’ torso through the coverlet, “I might just have to join you.”

 

Louis giggles again when Duncan pulls the doona away and rolls him over onto his stomach, leaning over him to nibble at his neck. Louis buries the sound in the pillow and curses Harry hipster Styles all over again. _Harry_. Duncan’s hands are smoothing over his arse and he’s thinking of Harry damn Styles. Mr-Fix-it.

 

Just then Duncan pulls his briefs away and darts down to lick over his hole, swirling his tongue around the entrance before plunging it straight inside. Louis’ back arches and everything around him fades to nothing as he pushes his bum back onto Duncan’s tongue, chasing the sensation. He lets out a high chorus of muffled moans, burying his eyes in his arm as he tries to hold onto the feeling. He wants to cherish the feeling of being fucked with love instead of anger.

 

After a few more breathless gasps, Duncan turns him over again and then motions for Louis to do away with his top. Louis remembers distantly when Duncan used to undress every part of his body, pressing kisses from the top of his head to the tiny bones that jut out of his ankles, just to show him how beautiful he was. Then, Louis had believed it. Now when Louis sheds his top, Duncan’s eyes are not on him. He’s busy getting himself naked and after he’s disrobed, he simply presses their chests together as he slides his fingers through the top of Louis’ hair and kisses him deeply.

 

 _This,_ Louis thinks in some distant corner of his mind as Duncan turns him over and palms his arse, tonguing at his hole that flutters beneath his ministrations. This is why I haven’t given up, Harry. Duncan pulls his hips up so that his bum is forced upward, his head still buried in the pillow as Duncan’s hands slide across his stomach. They hold him in place as Duncan slowly enters him and groans at the tightness of his hole. Louis’ breath hitches and then falls as Duncan begins to move, thrusting slow and deep before falling into a more regular cadence, rotating his hips in quick, regular circles and nudging Louis’ spot every time. It makes Louis’ balls tighten and he pushes his arse back onto Duncan’s cock. Duncan comes with a shout, burying his mouth in Louis’ neck and sliding his tongue across Louis’ shoulder as he pierces Louis’ stomach with his nails.

 

“Please,” Louis gasps, “please can I…”

 

Duncan’s hand drifts down to wrap around his cock, sliding down across his length to rub across the tip, smearing precome around his slit and making him moan.

 

“You can come baby,” Duncan permits, kissing his bare shoulder as Louis grunts and spills a load all over his hand, his whole body shuddering with the aftermath of the sensation.

 

“Fuck,” Louis swears, his body dropping down against the sheet as Duncan rolls off to the side.

 

“Thoroughly fucked aren’t you babe?” Duncan says with a chuckle, swatting his bare arse, “gonna feel me inside you all day. Not going to look at anybody else.”

 

Louis fights the disappointment filling his chest. It’s fine. Duncan is possessive and Louis knows that. They had more intimate sex than they’ve had in a long while but it doesn’t mean Duncan’s character is going to completely change. Nor does Louis want it to. He’s fine with Duncan just the way he is. _Fine_. Louis is in love. He’s nobody’s project. He’s not drowning. He’s _fine._

…….

 

“Hello?”  


“Hello Mr Styles, this is Miles Tellman from GQ. It’s about the shoot-“

 

“Oh…oh my god. Hello. I mean hi Sir.”

 

“Yes, hello. Mr Styles, I’m pleased to inform you that we have both a studio and the male subjects lined up for you today if you could make yourself available-“

 

“Of course! I’m so excited…I mean, honoured. Gosh, I’m so sorry Sir, I’ve just woken up and I’ve clearly not got a whole lot of control over my mouth at this point in time.”

 

There’s a rough chuckle and then the sound of paper being shuffled.

 

“That’s quite alright Harry. You’re quite likeable so I’m positive you’ll work well with the team...stylists and the like. Now have you got a pen Mr Styles? I’m going to give you the address and the time now...”

 

When Harry drops his phone onto the bedside table afterwards, his head hits the pillow with a soft flop and an elated smile spreads over his face. Today is the start of what could be a defining moment in his career. Today he’s going to revolutionise magazine photography and shoot a bunch of beautiful men who probably never dreamed that they were good looking enough to end up in GQ. Harry’s going to prove to them that they _are_ good enough and if he has a stretch of golden skin and pale blue eyes dancing across the backs of his eyelids as he considers that notion, well that’s just his business and his business only.

 

Harry hadn’t expected to have a reason to smile this morning considering he’d gone to bed after a few too many glasses of wine. That’s not to mention the fact that he’d also spent a considerable amount of time leaning against the kitchen bench, toying with a mug and thinking about the last lips that touched it. Small, pointy pink ones that give way to small, pearly white teeth. Lips that can purse in an effort to contain emotion or break open in uncontrollable humour. Lips that felt so soft beneath Harry’s fingers.

 

Harry had expected to wake up with at least a minor headache courtesy of the wine and perhaps a few cold tear tracks because he’d been taken over by melancholy while looking out at the stars through his window. He’d lay down in his bed after, knowing Louis’ room was probably just on the other side of the wall and that he was probably fast asleep, his hair mussed up like a baby lion or some kind of hedgehog with his dark eyelashes sweeping along his small and defined cheekbones. The image had haunted Harry and spread itself over his skin on the cusp of sleep, so thick with meaning that he could not muster a breath beneath its weight.

 

He had wondered if Duncan had returned yet or called and whether Louis would fall over himself just to get to the phone or open the door when he did. Harry had wondered if Louis would ever forgive him and that question had somehow pushed him over the edge.

 

It couldn’t have been more than a month since the guy had moved in and yet Harry was a mess at the thought of losing Louis’ particular glow. He was at a loss to understand how breathless he seemed to feel without Louis. Louis could steal his breath, no doubt about it but he always gave it back. He breathed new life into Harry’s lungs and a kind of new substance that felt lighter than air and was infinitely more precious. Harry wanted to breathe Louis in for the rest of his life and that thought right there scared him into a restless sleep.

 

He had shut his eyes and thought of plaiting his imaginary unicorn’s hair until it lulled him into fitful dreams of Louis, sitting naked astride a unicorn, his thick thighs spread wide as he sang out for Harry at the top of his lungs. Harry’s subconscious can go fuc-well it can go to a rather nasty place like...hell.

 

The noise Harry overhears which interrupts his thoughts isn’t a whole collection of noises rising to a crescendo. It’s just one. One broken, high-pitched moan that pierces the silence. It’s a muffled, slightly muted sound that raises the hairs on Harry’s body and gets his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wonders belatedly why this has never happened before.

 

He supposes he’s usually listening to music of some sort or falling asleep on the couch watching friends. Now he’s lying here recovering from what he just heard. The sound of Louis in the throes of what sounded like a pretty orgasm. Louis’...moan. Harry’s trying to breathe around the solid weight in his chest but it feels like someone’s kicked him in the gut and then bashed the side of his head into a wall.

 

Louis is all around him, making that noise and sounding absolutely unhinged in the best and worst possible way. Sounding like he _wanted_ it. Sounding…in love. Harry knows without a doubt that this mustn’t have been like the other times. This wasn’t what caused that nightmare. Duncan was making love to Louis. The thought makes Harry want to retch.

 

_You idiot. You curly, pigeon toed idiot. How could you let this happen?_

 

Death by chocolate. Death by Louis. No different really. The latter may be sweeter than chocolate but the resulting pain? More sickening than any dessert Harry’s ever had the burden of enduring. At least death by chocolate has a good aftertaste. At least death by chocolate doesn’t moan like all it wants in life is to be fucked into oblivion by its cold, undeserving boyfriend.

 

Harry has to get out of here. He doesn’t care if he gets to the shoot hours early. He has to leave and he has to leave now. Before he hears anything else. Before he punches a hole through the wall into their room. Before he storms over there and drags Louis from that bed and explains that he’s not allowed to make noises like that. Not where Harry can hear. He’s not allowed to hurt and arouse with one noise. He’s _not_.

 

…….

 

“Hi boo,” Louis’ mum murmurs, kissing all around his hair before looking over at Duncan with annoyance, “no Har-“

 

Louis shoots his mum a warning look. Or a glare. It might have been a glare. _Don’t you dare say Harry_ , he tells her with his eyes.

 

“No Harrison?” She asks with an innocent look, tilting her head down to coo at the sleeping baby (Doris) in her arms.

 

She then turns to place a hand on Ernest in the cot that stands right next to the couch.

 

 _Damn it woman_. Louis knows what she’s playing at. The arch of her eyebrows and pursed lips say, “If you’re going to play games, I’m going to play games too. Come up with your own story well I obsess over my new babies and continue being disappointed in you, wayward son.”

 

“Who’s Harrison?” Duncan asks, pulling Louis around by the shoulder with a rough tug.

 

Louis can feel his mum’s eyes on them and he’s silently begging Duncan not to be too rough lest she notice that things aren’t better than they were when they first started fighting. They are, in fact, worse. She can’t know. She’s already unhappy with his choice to stay with Duncan as is.

 

“Oh um,” Louis tries for casual, smirking a little and wrinkling his nose as if about to laugh, “my taxi driver. I thought it would be funny if he came up to meet the babies with me. Paid him extra.”

 

Duncan’s eyebrows furrow and his nails dig into Louis’ shoulder blade but Louis remains motionless, desperate not to give anything away to the hawk eyes he can feel piercing his back.

 

“Why would you do that? Did you like him that much?”

 

“Because he tends to do anything to make people laugh,” Louis’ mum says with cold hostility before Louis can even open his mouth, “because he’s a beautiful, wonderful boy.”

 

Duncan’s eyes shift to the right of Louis to meet his mum’s and Louis’ heart is beating so fast as he waits for an inevitable conflict to break out. There’s no way that Duncan will sit back and take the accusation that he doesn’t appreciate Louis. No way. Louis’ hands are trembling.

 

“Of course he is,” Duncan says stiffly, much to Louis’ surprise.

 

 _He’s afraid of her_ , Louis realises with a shock.

 

“I’m just going to go...” Duncan pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket and jabs his thumb towards the front door.

 

“Since when do you smoke?” Louis asks before he can help himself.

 

Duncan’s eyes are cold like the blade of a steel knife gutting a fish but he doesn’t say a word to rebuke Louis, not with Jay there. Instead he doles out a self-conscious smile that Louis hasn’t seen in years. It’s not real. His eyes are glacial even as his mouth moves.

 

“Since I started joining colleagues on their smoko breaks and got hooked. Sorry babe.”

 

“It’s okay,” Louis says, voice tight with fear, rather than anger.

 

He knows instantly that Duncan will jerk him off in the car on the way home. Jerk him until he’s bursting to come and then pull away every time. Then once they’re home, Duncan will fuck him the opposite of how he had this morning. Duncan will fuck him with his glacial eyes and his hatred of Louis’ questions. Duncan will fuck him like he doesn’t ever remember making love with tenderness. It makes Louis’ eyes prickle painfully.

 

As soon as Duncan disappears out the front door, Louis’ mum pulls him down onto the couch next to her and places Doris in his arms.

 

“Big brother duty starts now,” she tells him, jumping up with only a slight wobble, “because I have to pee.”

 

“Fine by me,” Louis sighs, already leaning down to press his cheek against his baby sister’s forehead, feeling her softness and warmth and the tiny breaths that ghost over his ear.

 

Jay’s hand reaches out to stroke his hair and Louis tilts his head back up to look at her. She’s all teary eyed and the sinews of Louis’ heart stretch out towards her. God he loves her so much. He forgets sometimes when he’s busy with work or in the midst of being berated by Duncan but then he comes down here and he’s home. He’s just boo bear here. Sometimes it hurts to think about his childhood and how untouched he was by life. It hurts Louis to think about a time when he didn’t hurt. Louis holds out a hand and knits his fingers and his mum’s together.

 

“I’m okay, I just-“

 

“What’s wrong mum?” Louis says with a frown, rocking Doris slightly as she hiccups in her sleep.

 

“I’m just---you’re going to make such a good father,” she tells him and Louis’ frown transforms into a watery smile, his heart beating triple time in his chest at the thought of babies of his own, “but you deserve better baby. You deserve someone who will really love you _and_ your babies, with all their heart, the same way you love them.”

 

“I have that,” Louis says defensively, his protest sounding weak even to his own ears, “mum, I have that.”

 

Jay brushes a few tears from the bottoms of her eyelids and then shakes her head at him, a sad smile gracing her lips.

 

“I made a mistake with you.”

 

Now Louis’ eyes are welling up too. Has his mum finally seen what Duncan sees?  Has she noticed the extra layer of flab around his tummy, his inability to keep his flirty personality in check or his ridiculously high expectations? Does she think it’s her fault that he’s not good enough for anybody?

 

“Mum---“ he croaks.

 

“I made a mistake,” she sighs, “because if I had done my job, Louis William Tomlinson, you’d know exactly how much you deserve. You’d know that the man out there,” she stabs her finger towards the door, “doesn’t even come close.”

 

She doesn’t wait for his response, just swivels and strides away in the direction of the bathroom. Louis’ tears drip down on his face but he catches them before they can land on Doris.

 

“It’s not her fault,” he whispers, brushing his fingers over the gentle protrusion of Doris’ rounded forehead before planting a wet kiss on her tiny nose, “she’s a brilliant mother. You’ll love her more than anybody you’ll ever meet, just like I do. Just don’t...don’t let her down. You and your brother, you have to be for her what I can’t be. You two and the girls. She thinks I’m all twisted up inside, she thinks she’s part of it but it’s not like that. I’ve never been so loved in all my life as I am by our mother and I don’t think I ever will be. I’m just...not worthy. Of her, of Duncan, god…of Harry.

 

“God I’m not worthy of Harry. He’ll…he’ll blame himself too,” Louis sighs, “when he realises I can’t be fixed because it’s not Duncan, it’s me. Doris,” Louis guides his shaking hand over her forehead again, “I want you to promise you’ll be nothing like me. I want you to promise that you’ll never be the mess people want to clean up. You’re so perfect little sister…don’t let the world ruin you sweetheart.”

 

…….

 

Harry couldn’t be happier with the last of his shots. The last guy he’d had the privilege of photographing was Olly Murs, a pub singer from central London who seemed like a surprisingly accurate mixture of himself and Niall. He exuded bucket loads of charm while maintaining a playful, laidback kind of persona. He winked so much at Harry that Harry had almost thought it was a twitch at first.

 

Harry felt he captured the essence of Olly while he was being interviewed, snapping shots of the tilt of his head when he laughed and the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes as he flirted shamelessly with the female journalist. He wasn’t sleazy with her and Harry had admired his fedora paired with a semi-tight, white long sleeved shirt and faded red braces that clashed with the mustard yellow of his jeans. Olly was just authentic, in every sense of the word and there was nothing Harry wanted more for this shoot than that.

 

Clicking through the photos, Harry nods to himself, admiring his own choice to ban Olly from smiling, winking or basically any facial movement in the overly made up shots. The contrast between the two sets of pictures is stark, the natural animation of Olly’s face emphasising the lifelessness of the model-like shots. It sets a brilliant tone for the whole spread and if not for Louis, Harry would bet his bottom dollar that Olly would be cover boy material. As it is, he’s a close and quite attractive second. Just as Harry’s pondering this, thinking that everybody else has already departed, he feels a hand on the side of his waist, which slips downward to grip the slight plumpness of his love handle.

 

“Harry.”

 

Harry jumps and then swivels in the stranger’s direction, finding Olly looking back at him with a grin and a strange kind of intensity in the flicker of his pupils across Harry’s lips.

 

“Olly,” Harry greets him with a huge smile, “didn’t know anyone was still here. You know you can go mate? Was a pleasure photographing you though.”

 

“Harry,” Olly says again and this time it sounds endeared as he shakes his head, an amused curve settling over his lips, “I’m not sticking around just to be told I was a very good boy…. unless of course, that’s your thing.”

 

Olly’s eyes trail up his body slowly from his feet, to the curves of his hips to his pectorals and then finally to his eyes. His smile isn’t predatory but there’s a heat in his gaze that Harry hadn’t felt before now. There’s a certain amount of interest in the way Olly’s eyes flit from Harry’s own to his mouth and then back up, all in quick succession.

 

“Um,” Harry says awkwardly, shuffling his feet and playing with the strap on his camera bag slung over his shoulder.

 

He hadn’t really thought of the possibility of being hit on today and he is less prepared for it than he’s ever been in his life. Perhaps because he can’t remember the last time he engaged in any kind of flirtatious interaction. He certainly can’t count his mess of a friendship with Louis, especially since it seems to be over before it’s even begun. The thought of what he may have lost winds Harry completely but he feels that somehow, if he doesn’t let it fester in his mind or let his feelings take root, they’ll soon shrivel and die. He might be fooling himself just slightly.

 

“I would like to go to dinner with you tonight,” Olly says reaching out and pulling Harry in by the belt loop. He wraps his palm around Harry’s hip so that the insides of his fingers are pressed against Harry’s bum, “…if I’m right about you. You’re into this right?”

 

Olly’s blue eyes flicker slightly with doubt and a hint of nervousness and Harry feels for the guy. It’s never easy coming onto somebody when you don’t know for sure if they swing the same way as you. Harry tends to stick to the open and shut cases himself. Not that he’s slept with anybody of late.

 

God, how long has it even been? He shudders to think and now he has to answer a question that could mean one of two things. Is he into guys? Yes. Is he into cute guys touching his arse and staring at his mouth? Yes. Is he into guys without long, pretty eyelashes, pointed cheekbones and the kind of laughter that fills the spaces in his chest? That remains to be seen.

 

“Um,” Harry repeats himself, avoiding bringing his body into more contact with Olly while simultaneously avoiding extricating himself.

 

He can’t make his mind up. It’s been far too long since he spent the night with someone and his sexual frustration has reached an all time high. He spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower this morning trying very hard not to think about the way Louis moaned. He’d tried not to think about how it had gotten under his skin in more ways than one. He hadn’t wanted to feel aroused. He was still disgusted and frankly forlorn over the person who was able to make Louis make noises like that. He was still a little cut up and jangled up inside over how deeply it affected him.

 

Yet the more Harry replayed it in his mind, the more he started to feel the intensity of his other response escalate. His breathing picked up and his cock started to fill up and suddenly he was stroking himself to orgasm on the back of Louis’ Duncan-induced moan. He felt terrible and repulsed by his own desire but in that moment of bliss, his mind hadn’t connected the two. His mind hadn’t placed Louis in Duncan’s arms when he’d moaned. No, instead his mind had given him Louis on his own, writhing on the bed as he opened himself up with his fingers and lost himself in the sensation. It was enough to send Harry over the edge.

 

It didn’t make any of the real tension subside. Not the tension that he’s felt throbbing in his balls and tingling in his thighs ever since Louis walked into the room with eyeliner and leather and pushed his arse out towards him. Not the tension he’s felt every single time they’ve touched in the last month. Only it’s worse than that because the hunger for relief is mixed in with a hunger for something else. It’s a hunger for something much more intimate and substantial, something far more dangerous.

 

The point is, Harry is a livewire ever since Louis invaded his building, his mind and his life and now here’s an attractive guy with a killer personality who wants to take him out and potentially fuck Louis out of his brain. Harry can think of a million reasons why he should go.

 

He should entertain the possibility of perhaps finding the person who he doesn’t have to change for, or at the very least, he should at least temporarily alleviate the blue balls situation he’s had going on for what feels like an eternity. He should forget about his next-door neighbour and the prat who pushes him around because he might go mad otherwise. He should stop entertaining fantasises of said next door neighbour when that next door neighbour is able to get his rocks off with somebody who clearly doesn’t respect him or love him the way he deserves.

 

Harry can think of a million reasons why he should go and topping the list is that he’ll probably never get to see Louis again. He can think of all the reasons for and just one against. Just one. Somehow that one minor point feels like it’s taking up all the space inside his chest. It’s not just his unsteady heart or the swirling of his stomach that feels less like deep attraction and more like doubt. It’s that know-it-all voice in his mind that whispers that Harry doesn’t date, not just anybody. He only fucks and maybe Olly is kind, funny and quite the looker but the voice in Harry’s mind won’t rest. _Waiting for more than a checklist, aren’t you?_ It presses. _You’re waiting for Him_.

 

Harry doesn’t want to think about the fact that “him” used to have a double timbre or a slight echo because that “him” was some elusive, mysterious guy he hadn’t yet encountered. It was an idea that hadn’t yet taken any kind of shape. The solidness of the way it resounds in his head now startles Harry because somehow it feels like there’s a specificity that wasn’t there before. Harry’s subconscious has an idea of what shape his future will take and Harry knows only too well that it’s only coming from one source.

 

“Um?” Olly prompts and Harry wonders how long he’s been staring into space, feeling panic rise in his chest, “can I take you out, lovely boy?”

 

Harry’s smile inevitably lifts at the sweet endearment and he drops a light kiss to Olly’s cheek. It’s cooler than Louis’ and the swell of his cheekbones when he smiles is larger. His cheeks are like oranges compared to Louis’ peach sized ones. Harry tries not to let it bother him.

 

“That would be lovely,” he says with just the right amount of roughness, quickly getting back into the swing of flirting.

 

He swallows down any nausea or regret and proffers a swoon worthy half smile.

 

…....

 

“Babe, I need a smoke. _Please_.”

 

“I already threw the rest of the pack out. Now do a few more reps please.”

 

“You’re lucky that I want to _ruin_ you right now or else I’d actually ruin you.”

 

Liam chuckles and then kneels down just to kiss Zayn where he lies beneath the weight lifting bar. Louis can practically see Zayn’s tongue swirling around Liam’s mouth and it’s disgusting but thankfully Zayn can’t multitask and Liam’s forced to break the kiss just to lower the barbell, trembling in Zayn’s hands, back to it’s stand.

 

“I don’t know if I’m happy Payno met you...because now he finally knows how to act half human around an attractive male that he has the hots for,” Liam throws Zayn’s sweaty towel at him but Louis catches it and smirks, “or if I regret it ever happening... because now I have to be subjected to these awful displays of indecency.”

 

“Don’t mind him,” Niall calls out from the cross trainer, “he’s in a mood because of H. You miss him don’t you?”

 

Louis slows the pace on his treadmill, partly so he can glare at Niall more effectively and partly because he’s got a nice sheen of sweat on his face and his legs are starting to feel like rubber beneath him.

“Miss him? I saw the guy yesterday.” Louis crows defensively, “How do you even know about...you know?”

 

Louis has a certain childish way of referencing things he doesn’t want to talk about. His argument with Harry is definitely on that list. Niall grins and flicks his head in Liam’s direction. Louis had texted him late last night because he’d needed someone to vent to. He’d needed to go off his head about the fact that Harry thought so little of him and his life choices. This is despite the fact that Liam is no different. In fact, Liam is usually a lot more forceful but something about the way Harry had said it got under Louis’ skin.

 

There’s something about Harry even mentioning Duncan that seems twisted and grotesque. Louis doesn’t like the quiet sadness in Harry’s demeanour when it comes to Duncan. Harry doesn’t seem to instinctively and rashly react to the realities of Louis’ life with Duncan. He seems to take them in, marvel at them and reproduce them with his own wisdom meshed in, as if Louis can’t see clearly without him. It’s unnerving and makes Louis feel truly useless.

 

The look in Harry’s eyes when he’d woken Louis from his nightmare had been sorrowful and so damn concentrated, as if he’d thought that if his gaze just crossed every square inch of Louis’ face, he’d know the depth of Louis’ hurt. It was as though he thought that if his eyes just fell deep enough into Louis’, he’d be able to extract all the darkness swirling within. It didn’t fit with Louis’ conception of the world and how people worked. Louis’ happiness couldn’t really mean so much to Harry after such a short time. Harry couldn’t possibly have that much heart, could he?

 

“I hate that you two are friends,” Louis moans, hanging his body over the machine as he allows his walk to drop to a snail pace.

 

“Sorry Tommo,” Liam says with an unapologetic grin and a shrug as Zayn encircles his waist from behind, rocking his hugely muscled body from side to side, “but Niall already knew something was up. Harry was sending him blunt replies all night.”

 

Louis’ mouth shifts into a frown and he tries unsuccessfully not to duck his head with shame. He didn’t do anything wrong. Harry is the one who got all up in his grill thinking he knows better than Louis. Harry’s the one who thinks that just like everybody else, he has some special insight into Duncan that Louis doesn’t have. Just like everybody else. That was the kicker really because the last two days, Louis had felt like he’d never met anyone as special as Harry.

 

Harry had looked after Louis and Louis had done the same when Harry bared his soul and somewhere in between they’d gone from neighbours to friends to whatever it means when you kiss someone’s cheek just to thank them for making you happy. Harry had shattered that though. _“Surely he’s called you._ ” Louis hasn’t stopped replaying that moment since; going over the way Harry had said it and the incredulity in his expression. He hasn’t focused much on the aftermath.

 

Yet now he’s forced to confront how breathless with shock and regret Harry had been. He’s forced to think about how he had felt Harry’s exhalation as Louis had embraced him. He’s forced to think about the look on Harry’s face as he literally shut him out, the look of Hansel and Gretel when they discovered the realities of the candy house.

 

Maybe Louis was Harry’s candy house, sugary and decadent on the outside but rotten to the core within. Harry had expected submission perhaps? Or maybe he had expected a thank you? Instead, Louis had been defiant and defensive and Harry’s image of him as a vulnerable damsel in distress just waiting to be saved had most likely been shattered. Louis can’t help but think that Harry must finally see him for the broken mess of limbs and heartache that he really is.

 

“I don’t miss him,” Louis is adamant, “and I’m not in a mood. Or if I am it’s only because I’ve been on this fucking thing for a lifetime. Liam, can I stop?”

 

Liam’s too busy snogging his boyfriend to pay attention to Louis’ request so Louis just sighs and presses off. He stands there wiping down his exposed and sweaty skin and then chucks the towel at the puke-worthy couple before ambling over to sit cross-legged on the floor by Niall who has also abandoned his workout.

 

“You know it’s okay to miss him right?” Niall asks, nudging Louis with his shoulder, “H is one in a million. Even when I’m angry at him which is...okay, I don’t think I’ve ever been angry with him but even when he’s acting like a bit of a pretentious twat, I still want to be by his side. Harry is just...good for you.”

 

Niall’s wearing a contented, lazy smile and Louis finds himself morphing into the antithesis as his faces scrunches up and he splutters his response.

 

“Good for me? What the hell does that fucking mean? He’s not-we’re not.... god, Niall he’s-“

 

Niall’s devious cackle is enough to shut Louis up quick smart as Niall pulls his white and red snapback down over Louis’ hair and rocks sideways with laughter. He crosses his arms over his stomach and squeezes the sides of his lilac polo to reign himself in.

 

“Not you personally,” Niall says with another loud laugh, “but good to know where you’re head’s at.”

 

Louis grumbles at him and then sighs because truthfully, he doesn’t really mind. Not with Niall. He’s completely harmless and Louis uses that as an excuse not to take any of Niall’s summations about him and Harry seriously. He leans his head into Niall’s shoulder because the boy looks like the cuddly koala type and Louis feels like cuddles. He feels like there’s a boulder sitting on his chest, weighing him down. It just might be Harry Styles and the stupid look of disbelief on his face when Louis cut all ties with him.

 

Sure enough, Niall winds his arms around Louis and then reaches up under his own snapback to brush out the sweaty strands of Louis’ hair. They scarcely know each other and Louis shouldn’t be touching another man like this. He shouldn’t be this tangled with somebody who isn’t his boyfriend but Louis doesn’t care. Not in this moment. There’s a tugging in his chest that he needs to be distracted from thinking about.

 

Then Louis spots the phone that Niall’s nursing in his lap and the background picture of Zayn and Harry holding each other in tiny suits. They must be four or five. Harry’s curls are spiky and untamed; his smile, a huge white curve on his face and his suit jacket, much too long for his gangly arms. The huge green expanse of his eyes takes up half of his face and he looks like innocence clothed in happiness.

 

Zayn is just as brilliant by his side with messy, un-gelled hair and a slightly weaker version of Harry’s smile, his eyes directed towards Harry’s in a way that makes it clear he’d die for the boy he’s hugging. It makes Louis feel awful lonely and he traces their faces with his finger before he can even think about the fact that Niall’s right there watching.

 

“Zayn’s phone,” Nially says, snapping Louis out of his reverie, “want me to unlock it for ya? Zayn has like two whole albums featuring young Harry.”

 

Louis bites his lip for all of ten seconds before giving away the game.

 

“Baby curly?” he needles, “please tell me Zayn has infant photos.”

 

There’s a much more subtle glow about Niall as he unlocks the phone and selects an album, handing it over to Louis for him to peruse at his own leisure. Louis can feel that the two curious blue eyes that are on him the whole time he’s flipping through photos are making judgements and coming to conclusions that are entirely deluded.  Niall’s pleasure at Louis’ eagerness is visceral, circling around him as he loses himself in pictures of tiny Harry.

 

There’s pictures of tiny harry in an extravagant kind of playpen that looks more like a jail than anything and pictures of tiny Harry consuming every type of vegetable and fruit that Louis could possibly name. The best picture is one of tiny Harry with tiny Zayn in his lap, his arms wrapped around Zayn’s middle as he leans sideways to poke his head out from behind and grin wolfishly at the camera. When Louis finally returns the phone to Niall, Niall taps the watch on his wrist and serves Louis up a smug smile and a wink.

 

“Just over 40 minutes.”

 

Louis’ skin feels patchy and warm as he realises just how lost he’d gotten in Harry’s past. He wasn’t able to tear his eyes away from the miniature version of Harry and the way his facial features were packed closer together, his lips slightly less obscene and each and every one of his curls, a tight corkscrew upon his head. Louis feels weak all over and the hitch in his breathing tells him it’s not the workout. It’s a little boy with perpetual pink cheeks and the biggest hands Louis’ ever seen on a child. Harry must have grown into them. 

 

“I...I was...I didn’t-“ Louis stumbles over his words, trying to find a way to explain.

 

Niall cuts him off with bright eyes and a suspicious looking twist at the side of his mouth.

 

“It’s okay Louis, I get it. Zayn was a real pretty kid. I mean I don’t know if Liam would appreciate you---“

 

“I wasn’t looking at him,” Louis protests, indignant.

 

Sure, Zayn was pretty, is still stunning in fact but Louis doesn’t think the dark, thick eyelashes and pointed bone structure measures up to the glorious strawberries and cream pattern upon Harry’s skin or his illustrious hair that’s like something out of a Disney film. Harry wasn’t just a pretty child; he was gorgeous.

 

“Oh?”

 

Niall’s eyebrows are raised and he looks surprised, if not a little confused by Louis’ response as though he hadn’t ever expected anyone to notice Harry before Zayn. The thought makes Louis very nearly reach over and slap Niall around the head but instead he lets his face form its familiar “bitch don’t mess with me” glare.

 

“I was looking at Harry, _your best friend_ ,” Louis says, with emphasis, “the one with the cute dimples and huge green eyes. You know, The Pretty One. Not Zayn, _Harry_.”

 

Niall stares at him for a moment, unblinking and then bursts into rapturous applause accompanied by a few chuckles. Louis stares back at him open mouthed and very much confused.

 

“Funny how protective you are of each other, innit it?”

 

“You did that on-you’re an arse Niall. But wait, what do you mean? Harry’s protective over _me_?”

 

Niall snorts and then rolls his eyes, still grinning. Louis just raises his eyebrows and waits for an explanation.

 

“Understatement of the century. Last night when H was texting me, I asked him if you might have done something,” Louis frowns and Niall rushes to continue, “just cause I knew he’d spent the last few days with you. Anyway, he almost bit my head off just for implying you’d ever do something to hurt him.  


“I wouldn’t, you know,” Louis says quickly, “do anything to hurt him.”

 

Niall’s eyes drift away from his and he looks out at Liam and Zayn as he responds. There are no signs of humour on his face.

 

“Sometimes people get caught in the crossfire though, don’t they?”

 

“What crossfire?” Louis asks with a furrowed brow.

 

Niall sighs.

 

“I don’t know if I’m rooting for you or not. I am on Harry’s side though, always have been and always will be and I just have to know that he’s not going to end up broken...even if that’s not your intention. He hasn’t...this hasn’t happened to him in awhile. Maybe ever.”

 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re on about but I’m not interested in screwing him over. He’s a friend...or, or he’s not. I did slam the door in his face. Either way I’m not-how could I break him?”

 

“Lou, you don’t have any idea what’s going on, do you? With him or yourself.”

 

Niall seems a touch exasperated but also fond as he hangs his head and smiles dopily at Louis.

 

“Has Harry ever thought about taking you to therapy?”

 

Niall pouts and pushes Louis’ side.

 

“Harry’s not my dad. He doesn’t look after me.”

 

“Oh so he doesn’t let you stay on his couch and feed you every last thing you ask for?” Louis says with a smug grin.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Niall grumbles, sounding a touch petulant, “I hear he even cuddled you while you slept. Never cuddled me. Not like that.”

 

Louis jumps at the mention of Harry spooning him. Did Harry have to tell Niall everything? That should have been private. When had he even spoken to Niall?

 

“It wasn’t on purpose you git and I thought he was barely responding to you last night,” Louis accuses.

 

“Oh he told me about your weekend. He just got all cagey and blunt when I wanted to know why he sounded so cut up.”

 

Louis almost bites through his bottom lip just wondering how “cut up” Harry was over him. Suddenly he’s just itching to make it okay. Why is he punishing Harry for being compassionate? More so than anybody else who has tried to tell him what to do about Duncan. Louis gulps. Harry hadn’t even given Louis any kind of order. He’d expressed shock and perhaps some form of disappointment but maybe Louis was wrong. Maybe Harry wasn’t disappointed with _him_.

 

“I think I’ve-I think I should maybe talk to Harry.”

 

“About fucking time,” Niall breathes out.

 

Louis raises an eyebrow.

 

“I literally spoke to him last night.”  


“I know but you haven’t dealt with Harry when he’s moody. It’s like seeing Ronald McDonald cry.”

 

“It’s like seeing you cry,” Zayn interjects, pressing a hand to Niall’s shoulder as he sits down beside him, Liam practically in his lap.

 

Niall reaches out to pinch Zayn’s cheek who scowls but lets it happen.

 

“Aww Zaynie. Are you saying you care about me?” he teases.

 

Liam squeezes Zayn’s middle with his forearms. Adorable. Sickening.

 

“I think he’s just saying that it goes against nature. You’re like happiness defined.”

 

“That I am,” Niall agrees whole-heartedly, pretending to strum a guitar as if to convey exactly this.

 

Louis chuckles and shakes his head. Does he really belong to this motley crew now? Zayn reaches across Niall to squeeze Louis’ knee, jostling Liam slightly.

 

“Aren’t you going to go talk to Haz?”

 

Louis smiles softly and ruffles Zayn’s hair in return.

 

“Yes,” he agrees, “if only to get away from you three. You two,” Louis shakes his hand at Liam and Zayn, “are so sweet that it’s foul and you,” Louis rolls his eyes at Niall, “you speak in gibberish and have some kind of heterosexual man crush on Harry.”

 

“Bother you, does it Lou?”

 

“Leaving. Leaving right now.”

 

Louis ignores the trail of laughter that follows his exit.

 

......

 

Louis hadn’t even prepared himself for it. He’d been steadily gathering speed as he climbed the stairs, feeling a strange sense of urgency in his race to talk to Harry. He just wanted to make it okay. He wanted to stop feeling like a fool for going off at the guy for nothing.

 

He hadn’t been prepared to run literally smack back into Harry as he reached their floor, his head slamming into Harry’s chest as his legs partially slipped out from beneath him and he almost tumbled back down the stairs he’d just mounted. He hadn’t actually realised it was Harry until that huge hand closed over his, yanking him forward and away from the immediate peril that the stairs presented.

 

“Careful,” Harry says quietly, not meeting his gaze as he slowly takes a step backward.

 

“Thank you,” Louis replies, rough voiced and cringing at his own idiocy.

 

Harry isn’t looking at him though. Won’t even meet his eyes. Does he feel he shouldn’t? _Louis, you fuckwit. He probably thinks you’re a monster._ Harry doesn’t say anything more but his whole face is rosy pink and he looks truly pained as he tries to skirt around Louis, head still ducked as he makes to travel down the stairs. Louis stops him with a hand pressed to the centre of his chest. This is precisely the moment he finally takes in Harry’s appearance.

 

“Fuck, Harry,” he swears without thinking, his fingers splaying out across the sides of Harry’s pecs, “what are you wearing?”

 

Harry’s chest is visible through a loose, semi-transparent, short-sleeved white shirt that’s tucked into deep burgundy-purplish jeans with a chunky black belt looped around his waist to hold them in place. Although Louis can see just how unnecessary that is because Harry’s tight, _tight_ , trousers fit his long legs and shapely thighs like a glove. It’s a very distracting glove. The bulge around Harry’s groin is large and sharply defined and Louis has to concentrate really hard on pushing his gaze upward to Harry’s bare arms that are unquestionably toned as all hell. His upper arms are meaty and thick with hard muscle but they narrow down to noticeably finer wrists and the contrast is dizzying.

 

Louis can’t help but think of the way Harry’s muscles must have tensed and rippled slightly when he lifted Louis up onto the counter the other night. The thought is unusually erotic, all that muscle tension flowing from Harry’s arms through to his hands that closed around Louis’ small waist, lifting him as though he weighed no more than a feather. Louis shakes away the image.

 

Harry’s wrapped a bright green scarf around his neck that matches the luscious greenery that surrounds his pupils. His _eyes_. Harry’s eyes are rimmed by dark eyeliner that makes the whites of his eyes shine and his eyelashes are curled and painted black. It makes his gaze even more direct and the watery colour of his irises even more mesmerising. Louis is transfixed.

 

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Harry asks, meeting Louis’ gaze as he frowns and blushes deeper.

 

Louis shakes his head at the ridiculousness of Harry not knowing. How could he not know how thoroughly he’s just disarmed Louis? Still The Pretty One, Louis thinks absently.

 

“Nothing,” Louis breathes, tugging on the edges of Harry’s scarf as Harry’s eyes fall to trace the movements of Louis’ fingers in the material, “you just surprised me. I mean...you’re wearing eyeliner.”

 

Just when Louis thinks Harry’s skin is as pink as it can possibly get, Harry proves him wrong. It must be on fire. Louis wonders where all this shyness and embarrassment is coming from and equally why he wants to tattoo that perfect blush onto his own skin somewhere.

 

“I...I mean, do you mind?” Harry asks, gently pulling the scarf away from Louis to get his attention, “It just looked so good on you and I thought maybe, maybe it would look alright on me too. Do I look ridiculous?”

 

“Of course I don’t mind. Didn’t invent eyeliner, did I love? You don’t look ridiculous,” Louis takes a huge breath, “you look wonderful Haz.”

 

Louis’ voice is soft and light but he doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes because he can’t have him knowing all the varying ways he means that. It’s more than the clothes and the make up. It’s Harry’s expressive eyes and his flawless body. It’s his raw strength and the fact that he could pick Louis up or move him in any which way he wanted and Louis wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It’s that perfect, self conscious flush of his skin and the way his rings all sit at different points along his fingers instead of sitting in a single horizontal line. Only Harry. It’s not an insult. Only Harry is gorgeous in these ways.

 

Harry doesn’t respond. He smiles but only the corners of his lips flip up while the centre of his mouth seems to tremble as though Louis telling him he looks wonderful is more painful than pleasurable.

 

_Well you fucking yelled at him, you twat. Why would he want to hear nice things from you? He wouldn’t, not when you could snap and bite his head off at any moment._

 

“Harry,” Louis says, his desperation renewed as his vocal cords pull tight and taut in his throat, “we need to talk.”

 

Doubt and perhaps confusion forms frowns on Harry’s forehead but he literally shakes the emotion away, planting his hands on Louis’ shoulders and squeezing them as he moves him aside.

 

“I’m sorry Louis but I’ve really gotta go. ‘M running late cause I spent too long getting ready.”

 

“Getting ready for what?” Louis asks.

 

“Ah, got a date,” Harry says, nonchalantly combing a hand through the side of his curls while he tilts his head back slightly as if he genuinely doesn’t know how seductive he looks.

 

Louis’ stomach jumps at Harry’s response. A date. But-

 

“You don’t date,” he says with gritted teeth.

 

“Yeah, but ah, this guy Olly,” Louis holds back a snort. Olly. Is he a puppy or a full-grown man? “That I met at the shoot for GQ...well he asked me and I thought, why not?”

 

Harry shrugs as if his decision to date for the first time in three years is no big deal. Louis has to ask.

 

“So it’s not just...sex. You actually like this guy?”

 

“Not just sex, no but I don’t know yet,” Harry says with a secretive, dreamy smile that Louis hates, “I don’t know if I like him.”

 

“Well,” Louis swallows noisily and reaches out to squeeze Harry’s firm bicep, smiling weakly, “have fun gorgeous.”

 

Louis hears Harry’s breath cut short and his eyes bore into Louis’ as his face slowly crumples into the worst kind of grimace. Why can’t Louis keep his mouth shut? He needs to, at least until he’s apologised properly. He needs to because Duncan is waiting for him. He can’t go around swooning over Harry like this. He has to control himself better.

 

“Louis,” Harry says, his voice strained and slightly off key, his eyes still wide and slightly off focus.

 

Louis’ eyes trail to Harry’s arms again and he shrugs out of his denim jacket, thrusting it at Harry who jumps and then clutches it in his fingers.

 

“You’ll be cold otherwise. I don’t want you to freeze.”

 

Louis tries for blasé with a well-timed shrug and a flick of his eyelashes but he can see that Harry is still stuck on the whole “gorgeous” comment. He threads the jacket’s collar through his thumbs and bites his lip hard.

 

“Thanks,” he finally says, sticking his arms through the sleeves and pulling the jacket on without looking up.

 

It looks a touch ridiculous. The sleeves are way too short on him but they frame his muscles a little too perfectly, the material plastered tightly to his skin. Louis hadn’t thought of that. Olly should thank him. The prospect of that makes Louis’ whole body seize up with tension. This guy better be fucking special. If he’s going to date Harry, he has to be special.

 

“I should ah, go,” Harry says awkwardly, edging back towards the stairs.

 

Louis nods silently and tries his best to deny the lump in his throat that’s starting to throb painfully in time with his dull thud of a heartbeat. He watches as Harry descends, feeling downright sick to his stomach. He takes a huge weighted breath before entering his flat.

 

.....

 

“So sorry I’m late,” Harry apologises as Olly grabs his elbow and steers him to their table.

 

The restaurant is a little expensive and just the wrong side of pretentious for Harry’s taste. The waiters are wearing fitted waistcoats and all speaking in the same soft, dulcet tones as they pander to their guests, bowing and addressing them only as “Madame” or “Sir.” It reminds Harry far too much of dinners in his own home with different officials, ambassadors and governor generals from different countries all being served food like caviar and salmon en croute. There were these kinds of wait staff there too but worse. They’d scarcely meet his eyes for fear of being reprimanded by Harry’s father.

 

Harry had tried on more than one occasion to rouse some conversation out of one or two of them but they had always kept their heads down and their eyes lowered as they politely informed him that it was not proper conduct for Harry to engage them.

 

Harry had felt like he was living in nineteenth century London with slave-like servants. Servants that were more than likely worked to the bone but too afraid to do anything about it because they needed the income. It had turned Harry’s stomach to think of the pitiful wages his father probably paid them. These wait staff who were mostly immigrants from poorer countries who didn’t know how to ask for more even if they needed it. Harry had tried to offer each of them some of his allowance to no avail. It was always “No thank you Sir. If Master Styles ever found out, we would lose our jobs. We need our jobs Sir.” As such, Harry doesn’t like to be reminded of that kind of time. Not when he has a choice.

 

He does resolve not to make any snap judgements. Olly is clearly trying to impress him and it’s sweet. He’s wearing a light blue fitted shirt and dark trousers and as they slide into their seats, he winks at Harry and flashes a wide smile. He’s attractive, there’s no doubt about it. A month ago, Harry would have had him between the sheets as soon as the shoot had finished but things have changed and Harry has to be ready for more than that. Louis walked into his life and reminded him just how much he wants more than that and how it feels like he’s been waiting for the right person for a rather long time. Yet despite the fact that Louis might have been the signpost, he’s not the destination so Harry lets his own lopsided smile fill his cheeks and continues to hold Olly’s gaze as their waiter pours them each a drink.

 

“Harry, you must tell me how on earth you are single?” Olly asks, swirling his wine in his glass before taking a sip, “you’re rather stunning.”

 

A pleasant flush crawls up Harry’s neck and he smiles bashfully down at the table.

 

“Thank you. I um, I guess I wanted to wait a bit because I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for.”

 

Harry’s not sure why that answer comes out when it’s lacking a certain component of truth. Perhaps he hadn’t known what shape the right person would take but he’d always had some confidence in what he wanted from them and what he expected to feel. Harry’s not sure why he didn’t just tell Olly what he’d told Louis, that he hadn’t wanted to be with someone who would curb his enthusiasm for his new life or restrict him in any way. Harry doesn’t want to think about why he felt so free to confess his reasons to Louis but sitting here with Olly, he feels like that part of himself is much too private.

 

“And what are you looking for?” Olly prompts, tilting his head to the side so that a strand of his gelled back hair falls across his head.

 

 _Biscuit crumbs and eyeliner_. Harry almost chokes on his huge mouthful of wine. He slows his racing heart with a deep breath and then shoves the horrifying suggestion aside.

 

“Just someone who’s...nice, I guess.”

 

Olly chuckles.

 

“That’s a rather long list you’ve got there Harry,” he says with raised eyebrows.

 

Harry’s grin splits his mouth open and he scrubs a hand over his face with embarrassment.

 

“Um, excuse that poor excuse for an answer, my mind is off with the fairies,” Harry apologises, banishing the fairy-like, elfin man with disturbingly blue eyes from his thoughts. _Have fun gorgeous, “_ what about you?”

 

Olly smiles softly at him and then slides a menu over to him.

 

“How about we order first love?”

 

Harry nods obediently and smiles to himself when Olly’s foot nudges his beneath the table.

 

“Recommend the spaghetti Bolognese. It’s to die for.”

 

Harry decides on the Caesar salad instead.

 

....

 

“So we climbed down the rock face as quickly as we could and the whole time, my brother’s screaming at me to go faster because he thought he was going to wee himself. Then, we get back down and he announces that the feeling’s passed and asks us if we want to go have lunch. The lazy bugger was putting it on the whole time!”

 

Harry chortles and collects the last of the chicken and lettuce on his fork, placing it on his tongue and then chewing slowly. Olly’s eyes flicker down to his mouth and Harry knows instantly where this is headed. Olly’s foot has been rubbing his ankle for the last twenty minutes and his pupils have gotten increasingly larger as his eyes drifted to Harry’s lips and then to his tongue as he swiped it along his bottom lip to retrieve the crumbs from the croutons. Harry could easily sleep with him, he realises and in fact would be happy enough to see him again and perhaps even date him.

 

Olly is amusing, if not a little too laidback for Harry. Harry tends to prefer a certain level of intensity in men because he likes to feel unsteady with attraction. He likes not knowing whether the guy he’s with might suddenly pull him in for a dirty kiss or slide his hand down the back of his pants while they ride the elevator. While Olly’s an outrageous flirt, there’s a certain level headedness to it that doesn’t feel unpredictable. He can’t imagine Olly ever experiencing random lapses of control and going insane with a need to touch.

 

Yet Olly ticks many of the right boxes with his kindness, his bright smile and the way he seems to take a deep interest in Harry’s stories, his eyes tracking the play of emotions over Harry’s face so attentively. There would be little reason NOT to go home with him. So Harry feels like a proper arse for looking at Olly’s perfectly styled hair that remains motionless on his head and wishing for it to be a little softer and a touch messy. He feels like a dick for looking at Olly’s much too sizeable hands and the blue of his eyes that’s much too dark. He feels completely insane when he imagines the words falling from his mouth. “Sorry Olly but your hands are too large and you don’t look like a baby hedgehog.” Harry has had it up to here with his disobedient mind and all it’s shenanigans.

 

"Cheque?" Harry asks Olly, determination flowing through his veins as he moves his own foot up Olly's leg.

 

Olly winks and then signals the waiter who glances between the two of them and sighs at the obvious sexual tension. There's a buzzing noise emanating from Olly's side of the table which interrupts Harry's thoughts of whose place they should go to.

 

Olly sighs, irritated and plucks his phone from the pocket of his jeans but when he sees the caller ID, his expression shifts into something softer and his lips quirk at the sides.

 

"Hello," he says, his innate musicality filling his tone as he reaches down to fiddle with his cutlery, ignoring Harry's gaze.

 

Harry shrugs and busies himself with the cheque as he tries to pretend he's not listening in to every word.

 

"No, I'm just out with Harry at the moment," Olly explains and is Harry going crazy or does Olly sound a touch disappointed?

 

There are a few moments of silence as the person on the other end responds and then Olly chuckles and rolls his eyes.

 

"The photographer at that shoot I got asked to do." Olly pauses as the buzzing of the other person's voice increases in volume, "yes, that one. No, we haven't. I mean, we might-"

 

Olly looks back up at Harry, his eyes zoning in on Harry's lips as he bites down on the center of his own. Harry hands the bill off to the waiter, having paid for both their meals and then rubs his foot up and down Olly's calf. Yet Olly's not paying attention anymore. He's frowning, his mouth slightly parted as he seemingly looks for an opportunity to interrupt the person chattering at him on the other end.

 

"Look I'm sorry I didn't tell you but I didn't think you'd care so...no, of course you are. No I'm not coming over, I'll...I'll speak to you tomorrow."

 

Olly presses end on the call abruptly and without saying goodbye and then stands up, offering a hand to Harry.

 

"Who was that?" Harry asks with wide eyes as Olly tows him backward through the restaurant with a sultry smile.

 

"My best friend. She's a nightmare."

 

Harry laughs and squeezes Olly's fingers. He has soft hands at least, even if his fingers are much bigger than Louis'. Harry rolls his eyes at himself and then drags Olly to his own car, pushing him up against the side window with a rough shove. Olly looks up at him with heated blue eyes, already breathing more quickly.

 

"Kiss me," he blurts out, wrapping his palm around Harry's waist to draw him in closer.

 

Their bodies are joined from shoulder to hip as Harry tilts his head and connects their mouths. Olly open his lips up and sucks Harry's tongue in, the outsides of their mouths suctioned together as their bodies push close together and Olly winds his fingers around the backs of Harry's curls. It feels good.

 

It's no different from a month beforehand when Harry would do exactly this with some guy from a club. He’d get off with him quick and dirty or if he felt like it, take him home for something more sustained. Olly's tongue is efficient and not too demanding, just teasing his own in that perfect way that always drives Harry's mad. Plus the way Olly grips his hips tight, digging his nails into his bum makes his cock twitch with interest.

 

Yet there's a problem and the problem is that as much as Harry's body responds, his mind isn't. A month ago, Harry's head would be filled with a montage of increasingly filthy images of him and Olly fucking on the hood of the car. A month ago he would have been completely blissful and ecstatic at this turn of events.

 

The truth is that Harry's cock is a lot more into this than he is and it's never been that way before. Something feels wrong about the way they're touching and it colours the whole night with that same tone of dizzying regret. Harry can't do this. He shouldn't be doing this just to satisfy that burdensome part of him that wants his neighbor; the burdensome part of him that doesn't want anyone _but_ his neighbour. _I can't do this_ , he thinks, his tongue work getting increasingly sloppy as doubt inches its way down his spine. _I need to stop._

 

"I'm sorry," Olly blurts out, ripping his mouth away and stepping back "but I can't do this."

 

His blue eyes are wild and panicked, his mouth slightly swollen as he wipes away the excess saliva on his shirt and runs a trembling hand through his hair.

 

"What?"

 

Harry is shocked to say the least. He hadn't seen that coming. Despite the fact that he was just about to pull away himself, he finds himself asking why he's not good enough for Olly.

 

"Oh god," Olly groans into his palms, rubbing them desperately over his eyes, "you're so sexy Harry. So sexy. Believe me. And if it weren't for-" Olly takes his palms from his face and reaches out to cradle Harry's cheek, "I would follow you home and I would sleep with you. I would take you out again just to see that dimple when you smile. Honestly, it's lovely."

 

Harry's whole body softens and he smiles calmly at Olly, this compassionate guy who could have been just the right guy if Harry weren't embroiled in a fucking mess of a situation with the wrong guy. That and if Olly weren't-

 

"Wait, you would sleep with me if what? Why did you pull away?"

 

Olly sighs and then chuckles, sounding bitter. He swings around to Harry's side and knocks his head against the top of the car, not saying a word. Harry shrugs and then throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling Olly into his side.

 

"Want to know my reason then? The reason I'm not at all bothered?" He asks, side eyeing Olly's frown.

 

Olly's eyes stutter back to his face, surprised and he nods.

 

"I'm...I'm rather fond of my neighbour. Like ridiculously fond. And he's...he's unavailable. So I came on this date thinking that maybe-because you know, you're hot," Harry smirks and Olly tilts his head back as he laughs, long and low,” and kind and stuff but..."

 

"But it didn't help, did it?" Olly asks, "because I'm not him."

 

“That’s pathetic,” Harry says sulkily, rolling his head down to the side of his shoulder.

 

Olly’s lip has a fond quirk at the side.

 

“But it’s true isn’t it?”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry grumbles.

 

Olly chuckles.

 

“Your turn,” Harry whines.

 

Olly’s laughter dies and he frowns all over.

 

“It’s Caroline,” he sighs, closing his eyes and sliding down the car a little.

 

Harry squeezes his shoulder.

 

“Who’s Caroline?”

 

“My best friend.”

 

“The one who called before?”

 

Olly nods and then groans.

 

“I’m in love with her.”

 

“You’re bi?” Harry asks with eyebrows raised.

 

Olly nods again and then ducks his head.

 

“It’s only her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever been attracted to.”

 

Harry laughs which makes Olly glare. Harry pats his shoulder.

 

“You poor sod. You’re gone for her, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes and I think it’s about time I tell the woman. It’s just...what if-“

 

“She doesn’t feel the same?” Harry finishes and Olly nods, anxiety flickering across his features, “mate, she asked you to come over while you were on a date with me. Pretty sure she’s jealous.”

 

Olly’s head bobs and he looks encouraged by Harry’s words, smiling with only a trace of anxiety around his dark blue eyes.

 

“Yeah, maybe and like, if she tells me to go jump, well then I can sleep with cute boys like you and not wonder if I’m missing out on something,” he says, the words blurring together as he gets increasingly more antsy.

 

Suddenly Harry realizes that there is an intense, unpredictable side to Olly. It just happens to be reserved for one woman and one woman only. Harry truly hopes it works out between them.

 

“You can go,” Harry says with a chuckle.

 

Olly pulls him into a tight hug, reaching up to pet his curls.

 

“We should hang out,” he calls as he backs away, “you’re a gem Harry. A very fuckable gem.”

 

Harry’s loud chesty laugh fills the night air as Olly grins, winks one more time and then quickly hurries away to his own car. Harry watches with awe as Olly jumps in and floors it down the street, on the way to get the woman of his dreams and most probably, his soul mate.

 

Harry sighs as he jumps in his own car and inadvertently inhales the sweet scent of Louis’ cologne on the borrowed jacket. _If only_. If only things were that easy. Harry doesn’t floor it home. There’s nobody to speed towards, only someone who Harry should most probably speed away from.

 

.......

 

 

“Why are you so jumpy tonight?” Duncan questions Louis who’s currently drumming his fingers against his thigh as he pretends to watch the TV.

 

“I’m not,” he says defensively, trying to relax the tension in his muscles that Duncan can probably feel all along his side.

 

Louis is tucked up under Duncan’s arm on the couch, watching some boring as fuck basketball game and trying not to have a brain aneurysm every time he hears a noise. It’s getting later and later and from what Louis has surmised, Harry is yet to return home. What is he doing? Are they still out somewhere? Are they getting off in Harry’s car? Or did Olly, the fucking puppy dog, take Harry back to his place? Louis’ chest hurts. _Have fun gorgeous._ Why had he said that? He made a fucking fool of himself.

 

“You are,” Duncan snaps, shocking Louis back to reality, “you jump every single time there’s a noise in the building. It’s fucking irritating. I’m going to go to bed because I can’t stand to be around you when you’re like this.”

 

Louis fights the urge he has to roll his eyes. Yeah, he thinks, because I’ve been in this state so many times before. His sarcasm fades at the thought of Harry altering him and making him feel things he can’t say he’s ever experienced prior to meeting him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Duncan’s jaw, “you go to bed and I’ll be in soon. I love you.”

 

Duncan kisses him slowly for a moment and it’s heavenly. Yet when he stands and makes his way through the kitchen and into the hall, shutting the door behind him, Louis is only relieved. He switches the TV off and grabs his reading glasses from the coffee table, sliding them onto his face as he pulls his sketchbook and a pencil from beneath the couch. Louis doesn’t ordinarily need glasses for much but when it’s nighttime and all he’s got to help him is the low light emanating from the lamp in the corner of the room, they are of considerable use.

 

Louis has been sketching a paper airplane crossing just in front of a swallow, mid-flight, for twenty minutes without interruption. He’s barely been paying attention to the goings on outside, instead focusing on the soft angles of the swallow’s torso and the intensity in its gaze. However when he hears the quiet thump of footsteps mounting the staircase, he jumps up like someone shoved a firecracker up his bum, opens the door and then quickly shuts it behind him without thinking.

 

He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he’s dressed in Duncan’s huge navy blue tracksuit pants and a tattered, charcoal grey shirt that dwarfs his hands and makes him look far too vulnerable for his own liking. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he still has his glasses on and his hair is probably a mess from having it pressed up against Duncan for half of the night. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that Harry might be accompanied by his date and he was certainly not thinking about the fact that he doesn’t even have an excuse as to why he’s standing on the landing, watching the staircase like a creep.

 

He breathes a short sigh of relief when he realizes there’s only one set of footsteps but it’s cut short when Harry reaches the top of the stairs and his whole gut clenches. He’s completely winded. It’s been only a few hours but Louis had stupidly forgotten how beautiful Harry is, especially in _his_ jacket with his hair windswept and soft rather than spiky at the ends. The darling green scarf is loosely tied now and there’s a lovely spot of colour in Harry’s cheeks that brings out the green of his eyes. The effect is devastating.

 

Harry jumps when he spies Louis standing there, which is the point at which Louis realizes he’s got no reasonable explanation for waiting here like an expectant oaf. He decides to pretend nothing is amiss.

 

“How did the date go?”

 

Louis forces the words out with a plastic smile as he rests his bum against his own door and watches Harry move toward him slowly.

 

“Um,” Harry coughs awkwardly and Louis wonders at the way Harry’s eyes flitter away from his own even as he comes to a stop just an inch from Louis’ door, “okay but ah.... not my type, I don’t think.”

 

There’s a wave of relief breaking over Louis’ body. There’s an urge to dance around the whole landing or something equally ridiculous, like find Olly and kiss him all over. _What the fuck is going on?_

“What is your type?” Louis questions, cocking his head to the side and smiling sweetly.

 

_Am I being coy? Fucking tell me I’m not being coy._

 

Harry moves a little closer and then swallows loud enough for Louis to hear. He reaches up and rubs his thumbs across the arms of Louis’ glasses, holding Louis’ gaze. Louis’ bum slides down the door a little and he pulls himself away from Harry’s gentle touch.

 

“You’re wearing glasses,” Harry says throatily, “they make you look a lot younger.”

 

Louis cringes and reaches up to remove them but Harry grabs his wrist and then gently pulls his hand down, folding it over his stomach.

 

“Don’t,” he says quietly, “I like you like this.”

 

Louis’ breath hitches but he ignores it, that and the fluttering inside his stomach.

 

“What’s your type?” He repeats himself.

 

“Someone...nice,” Harry settles on, his lips flipping up at the corners as if he’s quite proud of that answer.

 

Louis scoffs and doesn’t bother to hide it which makes Harry’s expression harden.

 

“Well you’re not going to go out with a dickhead are you?”

 

Harry’s eyes pop as soon as the sentence is out and he claps one of his huge hands over his mouth before reaching out to touch Louis. Louis shrinks away and Harry’s face only crumples further.

 

“Oh god Louis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that...I mean not _like_ that. I wasn’t calling Duncan a dickhead!” He blusters.

 

Louis has to clamp both his hands over his mouth but then his eyes begin to fill with humour. Harry spots it immediately, pouting unhappily at Louis in response.

 

“You arse. You’re not even insulted!”

 

Louis’ giggles stream through the gaps between his fingers and Harry’s bottom lip ripples, a wave of humour rolling across it from one side to the other.

 

“Stop that,” he complains, prying Louis’ fingers from his mouth and squeezing them, “stop giggling like that. Into your fingers.”  
  
“Why?” Louis asks, still laughing and unable to stop, as the high of being around Harry rolls over his body.

 

“Because,” Harry’s mouth is fully turned up now but he maintains the furrowed brow that makes him look completely ridiculous and utterly adorable, “you look like a mischievous school boy or some kind of fairy child or something. You’re all sleepy and soft looking and I’m trying to be mad at you.”  


Louis stretches up and grabs Harry’s cheeks, his giggles falling silent as Harry’s hands find his waist.

 

“Don’t be mad at me Harreh,” he coos, “I’m just a wee little tattoo artist.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes and grins, squeezing Louis to force him back down to the ground.

 

“You admit you’re little?” He teases and snatches up Louis’ hands with a smirk.

 

Louis tries to pull back but Harry holds tight.

 

“Have I ever told you how small these are?”

 

Louis glares at him and tugs on his hands, trying to get them back. This only serves to make Harry stumble and fall against him, his body curved over Louis’. Now Louis’ hands are being held up over his head, clenched around Harry’s and Harry’s staring down at him with mischief and flirtation. His green eyes are swirling and sparking, setting off a similar response in Louis’ stomach.

 

“They’re like bear cub paws. Or smaller,” Harry’s eyes light up as he squeezes their conjoined fingers, “like Hugh Grant’s paws. So little and soft.”

 

Louis wants to growl but he somehow senses that won’t help his case. Instead he changes the topic.

 

“I need to apologise to you,” he says gruffly.

 

Harry drops his hands immediately but continues to lean over him, watching him with bated breath and unyielding intensity.

 

“What for?” He asks, dropping his voice to a whisper as if scared to disturb the moment.

 

Louis gulps and reaches up to touch Harry’s shoulder. He falters at the last moment and lets his fingers trickle down the side of Harry’s arm lightly.

 

“I’m...I’m sorry for cracking it at you. For what you said...about Duncan calling. I know you didn’t mean to upset me and maybe you weren’t passing judgment like I presumed you were. I’m sorry Haz, I’m just real sorry that I got angry at you for saying something that’s been said many times. I don’t know why it hurt more when you said it. I’m just...I mean,” Louis’ hand doesn’t falter this time as he knits it in Harry’s hair and watches Harry’s eyelids drop until they’re half closed, “you can tell me what to do. You can...pass judgment. I can’t promise I’ll listen because I never have but maybe it’s not so bad to have someone like you tell me. Someone who doesn’t expect anything of me.”

 

“Lou,” Harry presses his thumb to the soft spot just below Louis’ shoulder blade as he cups it. Louis can feel the warm softness of Harry’s hand through the thin material and his own eyelids droop, “I really wasn’t insulting you...or him. I really only want this,” Harry strokes his skin through the shirt, “to be able to be your friend and to...to comfort you. I want to be the best neighbor you never had.”

 

Harry smiles softly at this and Louis returns it, melting beneath the soft press of Harry’s fingers and massaging Harry’s scalp deeper in response.

 

“I should um...go,” Louis says trying to appease that voice in his head telling him that this is not safe, that it’s not okay to enjoy Harry’s touch this much, “I came out here to um, put the rubbish out.”

 

Harry draws back but he quirks an eyebrow and one side of his mouth.

 

“Ah Lou...”

 

“What?”

 

Harry’s soft smile shifts into a grin.

 

“You don’t have any rubbish with you.”

 

“Shit,” Louis swears, smacking his head back against the door.

 

Harry’s chuckle sounds like silk and dark chocolate. He steps forward and cups almost the entirety of the back of Louis’ head with his palm, stroking over the sore spot with his thumb.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sincerity belied by the humour curving his mouth.

 

Louis pushes him away.

 

“Fine,” he groans, “I’m just going to go get the rubbish.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says with a chuckle and then does a half wave as he steps away to his own door.

 

“Harry,” Louis says just as Harry’s about to close the door behind him.

 

His head pops out around it and he looks at Louis with confusion.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Keep the jacket.”

 

Harry’s eyes go wide and he looks down at himself like he forgot the rest of his body existed. He runs a hand up over one side of the jacket, pressing his palm to his chest bone as he looks up at Louis with doubt. Something about Harry touching _his_ clothing so reverently makes Louis’ stomach muscles clench and his heart miss a couple of beats.

 

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, biting his plump mouth and making Louis’ palms feel sweaty in the process.

 

“Yes,” Louis confirms, bobbing his head, “see you round Harold.”

 

Harry is still blinking sleepily back at him when Louis shuts the door, moaning to himself as he eyes the sketch he’d been doing. Louis violently shoves the sketchbook back under the couch and then hightails it to the bedroom, climbing in beside a snoring Duncan who farts loudly in his sleep and then rolls over, rocking the whole bed. Louis’ phone sounds on the bedside table, buzzing briefly to indicate a text.

 

Harry: _I take it back. Hugh Grant’s paws are much bigger than yours. .xx_

 

Louis just stares at the screen, a ridiculously happy smile fluttering across his lips even though Harry is teasing him mercilessly. When did Louis fall under this gorgeous hipster’s spell? What does it mean that he falls asleep with the strange and seriously inappropriate hope that Harry falls asleep in his jacket?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throat infections are ace. Not.  
> So there's a bit in this chapter that's inspired by a movie. You get extra points with me if you guess it (it's not the one already mentioned either.)  
> Would love to know whether your prefer Ziam or Ziall in fics. Obviously I'm a Ziam girl (but ofc Larry is my OTP forever.)  
> IF YOU HAVEN'T READ MY LAST FIC, PLEASE DO. It's almost at 200 kudos!!!  
> Thank you for reading and commenting. I get the dopiest grin on my face when I read them SO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.  
> Enjoy xx

“I don’t have to repeat the aftercare instructions to you do I?” Louis asks the weathered man before him.

 

Basil is half sitting, half lying down in the recliner, his arm extending over the arm rest as Louis gently presses the corners of the bandage down over Basil’s newest tattoo. The tattoo is a rather dark image of a dragon being slain, which, according to Basil, represents the last opponent he defeated in one of his underground fights. Louis had merely shook his head, an unwittingly amused smile gracing his lips in response to the starry look that filled Basil’s eyes as he lay back in the chair describing the moment his fist first made contact with the other guy’s nose. The wonderful thing about Basil is that for all the bravado and beefiness, there’s softness at the core.

 

The guy’s got on his trademark checkered bandana and his singular hoop earring that always has Louis fighting back the urge to say, “aye, aye captain”. Yet despite this and the fact that he’s covered from head to toe in tattoos, he’s still wearing a lumpy jumper and soft pants, smiling kindly up at Louis as he shakes his head.

 

“Course not Lou, what do you think I am, some kind of amateur?”

 

Basil’s deep voice rumbles out of his chest but it’s belied by the soft look on his face as he grins at Louis and then reaches down beside the recliner to his bag, flourishing a bouquet of flowers like some kind of magician. The action is so dramatic and absurd that Louis finds another one of those pesky little giggles slipping out from between his fingers as he presses them to his mouth.

 

“You like them then?” Basil prompts; still grinning as he gently pushes the long stemmed red roses into Louis’ hands.

 

“They’re for me?”

 

Louis’ skin heats unexpectedly and he feels a small pulse of warmth in his chest. It’s not because he has any kind or romantic feelings for the tattooed street fighter before him. No, it’s simply the fact that this man, with such a reverence for violence and ink, is actually a great big softie and especially so when it comes to Louis. This is the type of man who people would shy away from on the street and perhaps glare at if he were to enter their high-class, posh establishment but Basil is a lot like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, hard as nails on the outside but sweet and vulnerable beneath. Louis just hopes Basil doesn’t think he’s Richard Gere.

 

Louis is still remarkably touched by the gesture and for a moment he wonders when someone last did something so simple and kind for him. That train of thought leads him to Harry. Harry, who Louis hasn’t seen in a week but who has been texting Louis like his life depended on it since Louis accosted him in the hallway after his failed date. Louis can’t bring himself to regret it and nor does he regret swapping numbers with Harry when they did the photo shoot weeks ago because Harry’s texts are there for Louis when his boyfriend isn’t. Harry’s stupid jokes and his charmingly awful comebacks are there to read when Duncan disappears for a “late night drink with the boss” or when he spends an hour outside on the phone.

 

Louis remembers their conversation from just the other night which had inspired the soft blush of his cheeks and the sleepy, warm curl of his lips while he lay alone in bed, waiting for Duncan to get home...

 

Harry:  _Hey Lou, why did the baboon ask the giraffe, “why the long face?”_

Louis: **Harry love, please don’t embarrass yourself**

Harry: _He thought his neck was his face !! .xx_

Louis: **I can hear you laughing through the wall. Harold, you disgust me.**

Harry: _I can feel you smiling through the wall .xx_

Louis: **That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I am in fact glaring. x**

 

Harry: _Is that a kiss ? I think you’re fond of me and you hate it._

Louis: **That’s a typo. An x, not a kiss. I think you’re absurd...now go to sleep**

Harry: _Just a funny coincidence that it fell at the end of your text then? Night bear cub .xx_

Louis: **Night monster hands !**

“Yes, for you,” Basil murmurs, breaking Louis’ trance, “please tell me you’re single now.”

 

Louis chuckles and shakes his head as he places the flowers down on the metal tray beside him.

 

“Nope, still involved,” Louis says with an exaggerated sigh, “but you know my heart belongs to you, you big sweetheart.”

 

He winks at Basil and silences the nagging voice inside his head that loves to remind him just how much trouble he’d be in if Duncan saw him joking around like this. Basil sighs too but his sigh sounds genuinely disappointed and it tugs on Louis’ heartstrings. Louis tugs on the end of Basil’s bandana.

 

“You know you could do a lot better than me right?”

 

Basil’s huge hand lands on his shoulder and shakes him semi-roughly. His disappointment is framed by indignation as Louis shakes under his grip.

 

“That boyfriend of yours has got to have no fucking clue if that’s what you think. Doesn’t he tell you how wonderful you are?”

 

Louis’ throat thickens as Basil’s words join the legion of similar sentiments that have already been rattling around Louis’ head a lot of late.  _Doesn’t he tell you how wonderful you are? You’re better than this. Louis, wake up. Surely he’s called you._ Louis is wound tighter than a spring at this point and Basil’s rhetorical question is only adding to his inner torment.

 

“I don’t need him to tell me,” Louis says with a falsely bright smile as he flutters his eyelashes “I only ever need to look in the mirror.”

 

Basil doesn’t know Louis well enough to spot the difference between a good mood and a good cover so he expels a gruff chuckle and pats Louis’ shoulder.

 

“Too right,” he agrees with a grin, “you got a bright future behind you.”

 

“Quoting song lyrics about my bum? Basil, you’re an outrageous flirt.”

 

Basil just shrugs and then cups his crutch, moving his hips from side to side on the seat.

 

“My anaconda don’t want none unless-“

 

“I know you could beat the shit out of me if you wanted but if you finish that sentence, I’m going to have to go Feral Louis on your arse,” a light shines in Basil’s eyes and Louis smacks his forehead in horror, “oh fuck, I mean-“

 

To make matters worse, while Basil is going blue in the face with laughter, Louis gets a new text from Harry.

 

Harry: _My buns are perfect :) You can come try them later if you want ? .xx_

Louis stares wide eyed at the screen. His heart is rabbiting in his chest and the rest of the world melts away as his mind automatically fills with images of Harry spread eagled on a four poster bed with a soft tongue between his cheeks...Louis’ soft tongue, to be exact. His phone vibrates in his hand again and he almost drops the stupid thing, his fingers trembling as he unlocks it. Louis’ heart slows as he reads the follow up text but the semi in his pants is still pressing right up against his zipper and making him squirm uncomfortably. _Fuck everything._

 

Harry: _Just took them out of the oven. Pink icing or red? You said your favourite colour is red didn’t you? .xx_

 

......

 

“Hey babe, I’ve gotta meet with Hunter tonight for drinks. We have to discuss that meeting we’ve got tomorrow.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I won’t be home till late.”

 

“Sure, that’s fine.”

 

“Maybe I should just stay at Hunter’s because I don’t want to wake you up at some ungodly hour when I come home?”

 

“Yes, let’s do that.”

 

“Are you even listening to me Louis?” Duncan snaps.

 

Harry: _Are you coming or not? Duncan home? .xx_

Harry: _I take it you’re ignoring me_

Harry: _Put some buns in a container for you just in case you drop by._

Louis reluctantly tears his eyes from the screen to look into Duncan’s suspicious and narrowed green eyes. He’s standing by the door, his arms folded over his stomach with a stormy expression on his face as he looks down at Louis. Louis feels a column of heat rising up his spine in response to that unnerving stare. He really hadn’t heard a word.

 

“I-“

 

“Who are you even texting?” Duncan demands, jerking his chin outward in the direction of Louis’ phone.

 

Louis locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket, keeping his eyes lowered as he responds.

 

“No one. I wasn’t texting anyone. I was just checking the football scores.”

 

“Well did you hear me? I’m going out. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

 

Louis’ pulse jumps with anxiety and when he looks up at Duncan, there’s a similar form of tension mirrored in his expression. It’s in the creases between Duncan’s eyebrows and the jittery movements of his pupils across Louis’ face.

 

“Are you-“ Louis swallows down the bile rising in his throat as unwelcome thoughts flood his brain, “are you sure you don’t want to come home?”

 

Duncan sighs, seemingly annoyed but there’s still something intrinsically nervous about him, with his stiff posture and the way his cheek is hollowed in slightly on one side, as if he might be biting the inside of his mouth. There’s something about his composure, or rather, lack thereof that makes Louis uneasy.

 

“I told you, I don’t want to wake you up babe.”

 

The exasperation and obvious irritation in Duncan’s tone doesn’t match his sentiment. On the surface, it’s considerate and sweet but beneath that it feels like Duncan’s rushing towards some kind of prize and Louis is the only obstacle left in his way.

 

“I don’t mind,” Louis says in a tiny voice, fisting his jacket in his fingers as he stares determinedly at his lap, “I just want you here with me.”

 

Louis can admit to himself that Harry has become his friend and has recently filled some spaces left in his life left by Duncan. Harry has been the person Louis texts when he doesn’t want to hear one of Liam’s tough love lectures or a similar derivative from Taylor, albeit mixed in with some sugary sweet stories about Calvin treating her like a princess that are frankly worthy of a cavity. Louis couldn’t be happier that his two best friends have attractive, dutiful boyfriends who think the world of them but there’s a part of him that isn’t able to fully appreciate how wonderful that is, when he’s stuck in his own special merry-go-round of misery. It’s difficult for Louis to hear about how special Taylor is to Calvin and to know that deep down, he’s not even near the same for his boyfriend of three years. Louis knows he’s not good enough and he wonders when that became true because once upon a time, he had been.

 

Yes, Harry has provided Louis with a few too many fond smiles and girlish giggles this past week. He’s occupied Louis’ thoughts more than Louis would care to admit...but that’s where it ends. Harry is an enigma; a beautiful, angelic soul with more than a few quirks that Louis would like to study further...but he won’t. He won’t venture next door unless asked. He won’t allow his most illicit, erotic fantasies to morph into anything but passing thoughts. It’s okay, he tells himself, to have an itsy bitsy crush on the guy next door. It’s okay because Harry has legs that look like they could wind around Louis’ waist more than once and solid, meaty thighs that would look fucking fantastic trembling with orgasm. It’s okay that Louis got the breath knocked of him when he ran into Harry on the stairs last week, looking like a page out of a catalogue and yet somehow even more beautiful. It’s okay because while Harry is the first guy he’s looked at in three years that wasn’t Duncan, Duncan is still the one with his heart.

 

Duncan is still the one he wants to come home to. He only wonders if it’s the Duncan of old he’s really in love with and whether that person still exists in some corner of Duncan’s mind. He wonders whether he might be dead and gone forever...

 

Duncan doesn’t say anything but he approaches the couch and then leans down, grasping the back of Louis’ neck to pull him into a soft kiss where their lips slip and slide against each other and their sighs melt into one. When Duncan pulls back, Louis hums his contentment. Duncan plants a kiss in the top of his hair and then straightens up, any softness quickly fading from his expression.

 

“I can’t do that to you love,” he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful when you sleep.”

 

The words sit dark and twisted inside Louis’ body as they flow from his ear canals to his stomach, sitting there like a huge leaden weight that won’t budge. The murmur is so quiet, the words so tender but there is nothing but blankness in Duncan’s look and Louis’ skin is crawling with the urge to shake Duncan and bring whatever it is they once had back to life. _If I’m so beautiful_ , he wants to ask, _why don’t you want to hold me? Why don’t you want to lie with me?_  He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t truly want to know. He doesn’t want to know what part of his body repulses Duncan the most or why Duncan is so determined to spend the night elsewhere.

 

“I hope you have a good time,” Louis says with strain.

 

Duncan grins at him and his eyes brighten instantly. He’s shining with victory and triumph while Louis’ stomach is churning unhappily.

 

“I just need to get my watch from your car. Can I have the keys?”

 

Louis pulls them from his jeans and chucks them to Duncan who swings them around his pinkie and runs his other hand through his hair.

 

“You should have Liam round or something,” Duncan says with a sparkling smile, “have a guys night or something.”

 

Louis can feel how wide his eyes are in his face. _A guys night?_ Is Duncan actually encouraging him to have another man over to their flat while he’s not there? Duncan’s not okay with this, he _can’t_ be.  This feels scarily like the time Duncan let him go out with Taylor because he’d broken Louis’ new tattoo gun. He hadn’t had the guts to tell Louis until Louis came across it in the rubbish and confronted him about it. _Is that what this is? Is he trying to make up for something in advance?_

“Yeah um, great idea,” Louis agrees, feeling completely off balance.

 

Duncan winks at him and then disappears out the door. Louis’ head is thumping. He rests it in his hands and focuses on deep breathing. _This isn’t happening. Stop being so fucking paranoid. He loves you; he’s always loved you. Stop._

Louis’ head jerks up from his phone at the slamming of the front door, announcing Duncan’s return. His eyes widen as Duncan straddles him, grabbing the back of his hair and pulling tight. He forces Louis’ head back against the head rest.

 

“Thought you could get away with it, did you?” He asks, voice low and menacing.

 

His eyes flare with that dangerous combination of fury and excitement; the excitement he seems to get from exerting control over Louis.

 

“Get away with what?” Louis asks, the nerves at the base of his neck prickling from how hard his hair is being pulled.

 

Duncan grips the base of his hair even tighter; jerking his head to the side so Louis is left with an unobstructed view of the item that Duncan had slammed down on the table behind them. There’s a bouquet of crumpled red roses lying sideways on the edge, a few dilapidated petals floating down to the carpet as the torn card rests in tatters by its side. Louis’ whole world starts to tremble and he can feel every noise but his breathing fall quiet in his ears. He’d forgotten the bouquet. He’d forgotten to dispose of it before he got home. _Fuck_.

 

“ _Thanks for everything Lou. Until next time, Basil. Kiss, kiss,”_ Duncan quotes in a falsely cheerful tone, scrunching Louis’ hair in his fist and pulling until with a satisfied sneer, he spots tears in Louis’ eyes.

 

“It’s not, he’s not-he’s just a client,” Louis urges, “I swear. He just wanted to thank me for doing his tattoo.”

 

“His tattoo or _him_?” Duncan presses, pushing down on Louis’ chest hard as he pulls himself into a standing position, “he wanted to thank you for sucking his cock like the filthy little whore you are, didn’t he? You thought if you just hid them in your car, I wouldn’t find them.”

 

“No,” Louis rasps, pressing his wrists against his eyes to stem the flow of tears, “no, nothing happened.”

 

Louis listens to the click of Duncan’s belt and the slide of the leather as Duncan pulls the strap from the belt loops and deposits it on the floor. Louis’ body starts to tremble at the sound of the zipper and he flinches when Duncan picks him up, pulling his body around like a rag doll until he’s lying sideways on the couch, head tilted up against the arm rest. Louis doesn’t open his eyes as he feels Duncan settle himself on his chest, arms either side of his head. The weight is too much and Louis’ breath feels constricted but then Duncan slides forward and rests his cock in Louis’ open mouth and there are other things to think about.

 

“Suck,” Duncan commands, thrusting forward until his cock blocks off the entirety of Louis’ throat, “suck me like you sucked him, you piece of shit. Show me how filthy you are.”

 

Louis’ eyes tear and his head starts to pound with the lack of oxygen getting to his brain but he merely tightens his mouth like a suction and pulls himself up and down, gasping around Duncan’s cock and dribbling salvia down over his chin. Duncan’s hip thrusts get increasingly erratic and then he lifts Louis’ head up from the arm rest so that his cock automatically slips further down Louis’ throat, bearing down on his chest at the same time. His balls slap against Louis’ chin as he violently thrusts, grunting and piercing Louis’ biceps with his nails. Louis chokes around him and Duncan picks up his pace, slamming into Louis’ throat with his head thrown back and his eyelashes beating down against his cheeks at a frenetic pace.

 

“Yeah, fuck,” Duncan growls as he grips the back of Louis’ neck and holds him in place, Louis’ access to oxygen completely cut off as Duncan rocks his hips a few more times and then comes straight down Louis’ throat. “Fucking swallow it. Don’t you dare fucking pull off.”

 

Spots appear in Louis’ vision and Duncan’s grunts get quieter in his ears as he drifts, his lungs too empty to function. Duncan finally pulls out, dribbling come over Louis’ lips and chin as he allows his softening cock to flop down onto Louis’ neck. Louis gasps, a sharp pain reverberating through his chest as his lungs protest the sudden rush of oxygen and the fact that Duncan’s weight is still pressing down upon him.

 

Duncan removes himself from Louis’ chest and motions for Louis to stand. _It’s not over, oh god it’s not over._ Duncan slumps down into the couch cushions and looks Louis over with deliberate speculation, as if deciding how best to punish him. Louis’ knees are week and his throat feels like sandpaper. He can’t remember ever being this terrified of Duncan.

 

“Take your clothes off,” Duncan finally says, motioning lazily at Louis’ black jeans and dark blue parka.

 

Louis sheds his clothes in an instant, feeling none too comfortable with Duncan’s unemotional, cynical gaze as he shivers in the frosty air of the room. Louis knows Duncan’s gaze will pick up all the imperfections that he hasn’t yet been able to perfect. It will pick up all the things Duncan wanted him to fix that Louis hasn’t, like the extra layer of fat around his stomach and hips and the lack of muscle definition in his chest.

 

“Touch yourself,” Duncan orders him, eyes cold and cruel.

 

Louis couldn’t be any more soft.

 

“I can’t-“

 

“Touch yourself,” Duncan says, his volume and the severity of his tone climbing higher as he settles Louis with a look that tells him that this is not up for discussion.

 

Louis guides his hand to his dick and slides his fist over the tip; his skin crawling with how wrong this feels. He can still taste Duncan in his mouth and his lungs haven’t yet stopped sparking pain through his body every time he breathes too deeply. He has no choice though. No choice but to submit. Louis closes his eyes and tightens his grip, trying to think of anything that will get him off quickly so that this can just be over already, so that he can slink away with shame and deal with his inadequacies on his own. That is, if that’s what Duncan wants. There’s every chance that Duncan only wants to bring him to the edge of orgasm so he can keep him there for as long as it takes Louis to break down.

 

“You’re disgusting,” Duncan says quietly and Louis’ fingers still on his cock, his breath faltering at the sound of Duncan’s serpent like hiss.

 

“Continue,” Duncan says, like a scientist urging a lab rat to run faster up the wheel.

 

He’s like a conductor whipping his orchestra into shape and urging them on faster until the musicians start to tire and the discordant sounds of overworked instruments start to clash and turn shrill.

 

The familiar trembling rolls over Louis’ body now and he digs his toes into the carpet to stop his hand from shaking where it moves across his length. He strokes across the tip, trying to coax out the expected response. _Doesn’t he tell you how wonderful you are?_ Louis has never felt as small beneath someone’s gaze as he does in this moment, naked and exposed with all his flaws on display. The weakness of his heart betrays him as tears coat the ends of his eyelashes, preparing to fall if he so much as moves a finger.

 

“Nobody wants you for more than your mouth and your arse. Nothing more Louis. All those boys you must have sucked and none of them _actually_ want you but me. What are you going to do when I don’t want you anymore? You’ll have nothing, you’ll be nothing.”

 

Louis’ eyes fly open and tears drip down his face unheeded as he stares unseeingly into Duncan’s face. Something snaps inside and he knows what he has to do. He can’t get through this in any other way. So in his mind, he travels somewhere else, to be with somebody else and finally, some level of heat floods his body. He feels the phantom sensation of gentle hands between his cheeks and a finger swirling around his hole. A husky, deep voice whispers to only him, “ _you look very sexy.”_

 

He feels thick lips prying his open and huge thumbs stroking the curves of his face as he wraps his legs around his imaginary companion, effectively burying their throbbing cock deeper inside himself. He rocks to the conjoined beat of their hearts and presses his lips to his fantasy’s jugular, urged on by the cut off, shaky breaths that are exhaled into his hair. Louis moans and tightens his grip on himself as he returns to a more lucid state, Duncan’s bitter scowl filling his vision once more.

            

Louis is desperate to prove himself. He’s desperate to prove that he’s not as weak as the tears sliding down his chin to the curve of his neck. He thumbs over the beads of pre come on his tip and rocks into his fist, hearing that deep rumbling voice sigh his name. _Louis. God, Lou._ It’s a contented, ecstatic sigh that resounds in his ears long after his cock stops spurting come into his fist.

 

“Now you can get out,” Duncan says, bringing him back to earth with a heavy impact.

 

Louis’ legs nearly collapse beneath him. As it is, they wobble tellingly and he folds in on himself protectively, his arms coming across his stomach as he crosses one leg over the other to hide his still pulsing cock.

 

“ _Please_ -“

 

Duncan’s sharp green eyes look him over from head to toe with a simple purpose, the intent to destroy any and all dignity. His mouth curls downward with disapproval and he shakes his head, so clearly disgusted. _He’s so disgusted with me._

 

“I can’t stand to look at you right now. Go stay with your mum for the night. I’m sure mummy will tuck her boo into bed and tell him everything he wants to hear,” Duncan’s smirk is cruel, his eyes dark, “maybe one day she’ll realise what a filthy cocksucker you are.”

 

Louis doesn’t respond. He can’t, not without sobbing. He reaches down to the ground to retrieve his clothes and pulls them on as hastily as he can, trying to ignore the hateful eyes upon him as he chokes back tears. He hotfoots it to their room and quickly fills a bag with some overnight supplies. When he gets back to the living room, he doesn’t even think to say goodbye. That is until he’s pulled back via the sleeve of his jacket and pushed up against the wall. His head bangs against it so violently that it creates familiar spots in his vision. Louis stares fixedly at a spot on the carpet and tries to think of other things. He thinks of the twins; of Doris’ innocent face and Ernest’s tiny toes. God, he loves them so much already.

 

“Don’t you fucking act like you’re walking out on me. I’m kicking you out.” Duncan fists his jacket, knocking him into the wall, “fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, you faggot.”

 

Louis’ eyes fly up to his and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles to his lips. Duncan glares daggers at him.

 

“You’re a faggot too,” Louis says calmly.

 

Duncan wrenches the door open and pushes him out, throwing his bag after him like Louis is some kind of disobedient teenager who needs to be shown the door.

 

“Disgusting,” Duncan repeats viciously, slamming the door in Louis’ face.

 

Louis doesn’t want to think ahead or think clearly right now. He just wants to be looked after. His eyes land on Harry’s door and he’s dragging his feet over there before he can even contemplate whether it’s a good decision or not.

 

....

 

“I can’t believe she just moved in with you, just like that,” Harry says with wide-eyed disbelief.

 

Olly grins and ducks his head, almost bashfully, like his happiness is too much and too private to share. It makes Harry yearn just a little. Still, the glow in Olly’s eyes and the way he’d gushed about Caroline when they’d caught up for drinks earlier in the week was inarguably adorable.

 

.....

 

Caroline had called in the middle of their chat and Harry listened with a shit-eating grin on his face as Caroline questioned Olly about him.

 

“No, he’s not interested,” Olly insisted, “really.”

 

“I love you,” Olly had finally huffed after some more good-natured arguing, “and this curly haired buffoon can’t compete.”

 

“Heyyyy” Harry protested, gathering his fruity drink close with an offended pout.

 

Olly just patted the top of his head and winked.

 

“Here, love. I’ll hand you over.”

 

Next thing Harry knew, he was on the phone with Caroline while Olly chuckled at his look of surprise.

 

“Hello?” He said tentatively.

 

The voice that filled his ear was rather deep for a woman but kind enough all the same.

 

“Harry,” Caroline said confidently, sounding as if she knew him intimately. As though she’d somehow met Harry without him knowing, “I have a bone to pick with you.”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows a touch at Olly who just mouthed, “what’s she saying?” Harry waved his hand at him, signaling for him to leave them be and then put on his best business-like tone.

 

“Yes, miss Flack?”

 

He was not prepared for the girlish giggle that came down the line. It filled his features with a grin as he raised his drink to his lips.

 

“Are you at all attracted to my boyfriend?”

 

Harry hummed a thinking noise and then flicked his eyes up and down Olly’s body for a few moments. Was Olly attractive? Hell yes. Would Harry have slept with him a month ago? No question but was Harry attracted to him _still_? No. Olly didn’t lick his lips for no apparent reason or close his fingers around a giggle. He didn’t have a bubble butt or this ridiculously cute way of pulling his fringe to the side with a slightly limp flick of his wrist.

 

“Nope, not one bit. He looks like a monkey’s bum.”

 

Olly stole the umbrella from his drink and snapped it in half in retaliation. Harry’s bottom lip dropped like a sullen toddler’s and Olly snickered.

 

“Harry!” Caroline scolded him with that same familiar tone.

 

“Yes, miss Flack?”

 

“Never mind,” she sighed, “I think I kind of like you. I want to meet this true love of yours.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow at Olly who had no clue what was going on but busied himself with chugging his drink anyway.

 

“I don’t know what Olly’s told you but---“

 

“Oh Harry, don’t be shy lovely and don’t give up either. Before you know it, you’ll be drowning in nappies and baby clothes with your love sitting right there in your lap!”

 

Harry let out an involuntary squeak at the mental image and then cursed his lack of chill. It’s just.... the thought of babies and Louis with _their_ babies...those two concepts were bound to make him feel things. It’s not like there was anything to be overly concerned about, right? He felt 100% in control of the situation and himself.

 

..... 

 

“She didn’t think there was any reason for us to be apart any longer,” Olly says, settling back against Harry’s couch with his feet tucked beneath his bum, “because we already wasted so much time and hey, I wasn’t going to complain. I’d marry the crap out of her right now if I thought she was ready.”

 

It shocks a laugh out of Harry. It sounds an awful lot like something Niall would say.

 

“I hate how cute you two are,” Harry groans, burying his head in his hands, “it makes me sick.”

 

Olly laughs and reaches across to pat Harry’s shoulder comfortingly.

 

“It’ll happen for you too love. Just not if you mope around here avoiding him.”

 

Harry raises his head to pout at Olly, his eyes turning down at the corners.

 

“I haven’t been avoiding him,” Harry lies.

 

“You haven’t seen him in a week, you said-“

 

“I invited him over today,” Harry cuts Olly off with a flourish of his hand, gesturing wildly at the tower of iced buns sitting on the table beside him, “I even baked for him. Asked him if he wanted to try my-“

 

Harry cuts himself off with the trace of a frown.

 

“What?” Olly asks, nonplussed.

 

Harry’s cheeks fill with colour and he slides down off the couch to the floor, leaning forward to knock his head against the coffee table.

 

“I think I...I asked him to try my buns,” Harry moans.

 

Olly laughs delightedly and only stops when Harry glares at him pointedly.

 

“Oh c’mon Harry,” Olly punches his shoulder lightly, “I’m sure that’s not why he didn’t come. You’ve got lovely buns babe.”

 

Harry’s grin is fond as he swipes his finger through the icing on one of the buns and drags it down the center of Olly’s face.

 

“Don’t let Caroline hear you saying that,” he teases.

 

Olly’s face is level for a moment, his grin absent but then he lets out an almighty battle cry and begins raining blows on Harry’s head, chucking the buns at his face as Harry tries, ineffectively to dodge them while simultaneously running away. He squeals girlishly and runs for the door but Olly catches him quickly, arms locked around Harry’s waist as he tries to rub the icing into Harry’s curls. Just then, a hesitant, soft knock sounds at the door and before Harry can tell him no, Olly unlatches the lock and pulls it open, one arm still closed tightly around Harry’s waist.

 

Harry instantly wishes Olly would blink out of existence for a moment. Louis is standing there with a bag hanging from his hand in a too big navy jacket and with the zipper of his jeans hanging open, clearly unbeknownst to him. There are tears easing down his cheeks and the tendons in his throat pull tight with every hiccup of a breath, as he tries to hold back his sobs. His hair sticks up at weird angles in the back and his whole body appears to be trembling. Harry can’t help it. His first thought is, _who hurt my baby like this?_ Then he remembers that this is the real world and not one of his romantic fantasies. Louis is not his, nor does he want to be.

 

Still, Harry’s heart aches to pull him close and make it all go away, to part Louis’ hair with his fingers, sliding his hands beneath the soft strands and gently massaging Louis’ scalp. He wants to brush his lips against Louis’ until the hiccups fall silent and worship the soft skin around Louis’ waist, sucking on the soft plump flesh until Louis’ cheeks go pink and his pupils roll. It’s not an option and Harry files the thoughts away for later. He’s not quite able to deny that fantasies about touching Louis seem to occupy the entirety of his wank bank lately.

 

“Olly,” he says tightly, watching Louis’ eyes sharpen as they briefly flicker to Olly’s arm around him and then trail back up to his face, “please go get me some tissues and don’t come back for at least five minutes.”

 

“Sure thing,” Olly agrees quickly, giving Harry some kind of meaningful look before disappearing into the kitchen and then past that, to the hallway.

 

Harry doesn’t think twice about taking the bag from Louis and hurling it on to the couch before yanking him inside. Yet it’s Louis’ arms that close around Harry’s middle and Louis who turns his head so that his cheek rubs up against the skin exposed by Harry’s scoop neck black shirt. Harry feels Louis’ tears slip over his skin and finds his own throat feels closed off and tight with some kind of shared, raw pain. He winds his arms around Louis’ shoulders and then lets one of his hands slip lower to rub at the small of his back.

 

“Olly, as in...your date?” Louis asks unexpectedly, pulling back to look at Harry from beneath wet eyelashes with eyes that are vulnerable with need.

 

Harry nods and watches curiously as Louis’ expression freezes over. Louis steps away from him and plants himself on Harry’s couch where Olly had been just a moment before. He looks at the mess of icing and forgotten buns on the floor with a forlorn look that Harry wants to kiss away.

 

Instead, he follows Louis over to the couch and takes his hand, squeezing it softly over and over until the trembling stops and Louis raises his eyes to Harry’s. A delicate, slightly wobbly smile spreads across his lips as he reaches up to pull some icing from Harry’s curls. Harry turns his head just a little so that Louis’ palm presses flat along his scalp and Louis massages his hair for a moment, drawing a quiet sigh from Harry’s lips.

 

“Louis, what-“

 

“Don’t ask me what happened Harry. Please,” Louis begs, eyes in his lap as more tears leak out the sides of his eyes, “please just let it go.”

 

Harry sighs but doesn’t say another word. He just watches Louis cry quietly and waits for him to ask for something so that he can provide it.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Louis says quietly. He gestures to the mess of icing and buns on the floor as his eyes fall heavily to Harry’s, like it had somehow been such an effort to keep them away before now, “but can I stay with you? Just for tonight. Please.”

 

Harry’s palm reaches out of its own accord and frames the side of Louis’ face, gently squeezing his small cheek. Harry loves the way Louis’ eyes water in response, his mouth turning up more solidly just because Harry touched him.

 

“Of course Lou,” Harry assures him and then drops his eyes to Louis’ jeans, “but you might want to do up your fly babe.”

 

Louis blushes and stands too quickly in his race to fix the problem. He topples down into Harry’s lap, his bum hitting Harry’s crotch and his hands falling down to Harry’s chest.

 

“Sorry,” Louis whispers but his hands move independent of the rest of his body.

 

They trace a pathway up to his pecs and then move onwards to his shoulders, squeezing gently before retracing the same path in reverse. There’s regret in the stiffness of Louis’ posture and it’s burning steadily in his eyes but he hasn’t yet taken his hands away. It’s all Harry can do not to return the touch. Just as Louis’ gaze finally lands on Harry’s own, their eyes slotting together like a key into a lock, Olly reappears with a loud shout. Louis slips off his lap onto the couch beside him. He toys with his hands as he pointedly ignores Olly.

 

“Disney tissues love?” Louis’ eyebrows push inward as Olly teases Harry, “really?”

 

“Gimme,” Harry says, taking the box from Olly while Olly folds himself up on the couch opposite to Harry and Louis.

 

He looks like a bit of a heartthrob in tight whitish-blue jeans paired with a white shirt and a dark brown leather jacket that plays up the blue of his eyes. His hair is styled as perfectly as usual and the glow that comes from being in love with someone who loves him back is really working for him.

 

Harry’s heart picks up in his chest as he notices Louis staring fixedly at Olly with some kind of heat in his expression. Is Louis attracted to Olly? A foul and petty surge of irrational jealousy rises up the column of Harry’s spine, trailing a column of fire up his insides that makes his fingers tighten convulsively around his own thighs. _He’s not attracted to him,_ Harry realises a beat later, _he has a boyfriend you fool._

 

Harry pulls a couple of tissues from the tissue box and holds them out for Louis but Louis is too busy staring and Olly is eyeing him up in a similar fashion. Harry just sighs and gets to work. He grasps the side of Louis’ face, sliding his fingers into his hair like Louis likes and rubbing them in small circles as Louis’ eyes fall closed and he lets out what might be a quiet moan. Louis tilts his head back and Harry takes the opportunity to gently turn his head and wipe his nose. He uses the other tissues to dry around Louis’ eyes. Louis doesn’t open his eyes until Harry catches the last errant tear on his thumb and when he does, he looks tranquil and sleepy. Harry wants to carry him to bed right now.

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, ignoring Olly’s presence.

 

He figures Olly will understand. Louis nods and then suddenly Harry’s got his arms full of him again as Louis climbs on top of him like a sleepy koala scaling a tree. That inspires a heady collection of images concerning other ways that Louis might climb him like a tree. Harry shakes his head at his own perverted thoughts and focuses more readily on the here and now.

 

Louis’ head burrows into the side of his neck and his toned arms come up under Harry’s to clutch the backs of his shoulders, holding him tight. Louis’ thick biceps are pressed against his own and Harry can feel their warmth even through the jacket. Harry’s hand skates down the back of Louis’ hair to reach the back of his neck but Louis freezes and jolts fearfully when Harry rests his hand there. It makes Harry frown into the back of Louis’ shoulder but when he gently massages the spot and strokes his thumb against the top of Louis’ spine, Louis softens. His back arches like a cat and he snuggles in closer.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Harry whispers and for that moment, it’s just them on that couch, hugging each other close like they’re each other’s saving grace.

 

Maybe they are.

 

“I’m sure,” Louis sighs, squeezing Harry one last time before sliding back to his spot.

 

When Harry looks sideways, Olly’s got his head cocked to the side and a genuine smile on his face. _“I hate how cute you two are,”_ he mouths, parroting Harry’s words back to him with a grin. Harry rolls his eyes and thanks his lucky stars that Louis is too busy a _ctually_ doing his fly up to notice the exchange.

 

“So you’re Louis?” Olly asks, finally joining the fray with a kind smile in Louis’ direction, “the troublesome neighbour that Harry has told me so much about?”

 

Harry reaches his foot across to kick Olly as Louis’ forehead creases with worry. Harry squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, dragging his thumb down the back of Louis’ shoulder blade.

 

“He’s joking,” he assures him, glaring at Olly once more for good measure, “he thinks he’s funny.”

 

“I’m really not, he won’t shut up about-“

 

Harry is just about to gag Olly when Louis does the trick for him, interrupting with quiet precision.

 

“So you’re Olly, the guy I’ve heard nothing about other than that he was a piss poor date?” Louis contends with a tight-lipped smile.

 

“Louis,” Harry gasps, shocked.

 

Louis’ head snaps in Harry’s direction and the sour look fades to sorrow again. He reaches out and squeezes Harry’s thigh, expression entirely contrite.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he says meaningfully, “can I-would I be able to use your bathroom?”

 

Harry is struck dumb so he just nods but when he feels Olly kick him, he stutters out a few words.

 

“Course. Don’t have to ask Lou.”

 

Louis ruffles his hair on his way past, a smile dancing over his lips that’s off kilter and broken, like he’s not quite sure how to make both sides of his mouth sit upward. As though he could disassemble at any moment. Harry’s back arches and he almost pulls Louis right down into his lap again, longing to hold him and whisper sweet endearments in his ear until the real smile returns.

 

“Got a mouth on him, your boy,” Olly comments off handedly.

 

“He’s not my boy,” Harry says, only sounding semi-petulant “and he’s never...I haven’t seen him like that before. I’ve seen him angry but not...it was almost like he was-“

 

“Jealous,” Olly finishes.

 

Harry snorts and then rolls his eyes. _As if_. What god given reason would Louis have to be jealous of anybody Harry spends time with? He’s in love with somebody else. The mere suggestion is ludicrous. Olly rolls his eyes right back and then stands up, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

 

“Why? I’m not going to talk to him. Give him some time...he just needs time to breathe. I could see it in his eyes,” Harry says softly.

 

“No,” Olly huffs, “I know that, you pathetic sod. Just follow me. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

 

Harry sighs but jumps up anyway, following Olly as he walks into the kitchen.

 

“I have no clue what you’re on about.”

 

Olly just winks at him, of course and then tugs him through the kitchen and into his bedroom. It’s conveniently situated next to the bathroom.

 

“What are we---”

 

Olly kicks the door shut behind him and then pushes Harry up against its surface. Harry’s eyes fly open wide and he puts a restraining hand upon Olly’s shoulder.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re---“

 

Olly raises his leg and then knees Harry straight in the balls as hard as he can. Harry’s face crumples and a pained moan falls from his lips, climbing higher in volume as the pain really sets in. He hunches over, trying to remember why he thought Olly Murs was a good mate to invite round for a drink. The guy is a psycho. When the pain dulls enough, Harry stands erect and advances on Olly, fury plain in his eyes.

 

“I’m going to kill--“

 

“Shh,” Olly hisses, his blue eyes insistent, “just go with me.”

 

Harry still has no clue what the hell is going on but there’s no time to ask because Olly lines up again and Harry’s just focusing on protecting his junk from Olly’s huge knee. Harry is no good at defense though so when Olly gets a hold of him, he has no hope. Olly quickly pulls his arms away but aims higher this time, elbowing Harry right in the stomach so that’s he’s good and winded, doubling over with pain again.

 

“Oh Christ,” harry groans, “Olly! You pr--“

 

“Yeah baby,” Olly yells, raising his voice to an obscene level as he grins at Harry and winks lasciviously. What on earth has gotten into him? “You like that, don’t you? My mouth all around you. Let me hear you.”

 

Harry thinks he’s cottoned on to the fact that Olly is some kind of madman who gets off on violence. It’s disturbing to say the least. Harry really needs to learn to pick his friends better.... but Olly had seemed like such a stand up, genuine guy? A stand up, genuine guy with a hell of a kink it seems.

 

“You ready for this?” Olly whispers.

 

Harry turns and backs himself into the corner of the room, hands raised up in defense as he eyes Olly balefully. Olly follows like a cat stalking its prey and Harry’s heart is racing so fast in his chest, his limbs having gone completely leaden. He’s so distracted by the incoming threat that he doesn’t hear the creak of the bathroom door and the light footsteps on the floorboards outside. Harry knows he’s hopeless to defend himself. All he can do is shut his eyes, cringe and pray to god that Olly doesn’t leave him infertile.

 

“Yeah baby, c’mon I’m going to make you come so hard.”

 

Harry braces for impact, lines of confusion running across his face as he puzzles Olly’s words. Before any impact can come, there’s a loud rapping at the door, increasing in speed when nobody responds.

 

“Harry,” Louis calls out, sounding more than a little unhinged, “Harry, open the door.”

 

Louis’ voice is higher and more strained than Harry’s ever heard it. It breaks when Louis says his name for the second time. Harry rushes towards the door, instantaneously wanting to soothe Louis’ doubt and to ease any trace of his pain. Whatever it is that’s got him so off balanced, Harry wants to be the one who makes it okay.

 

He knew it was bad when Louis showed up in tears, shaking all over like a leaf but his voice outside the door is somehow even more broken than before. It cuts Harry to the core. Louis sounds desperate, confused and pained all at once but before Harry can swing the door open and fix it, Olly’s hand clamps down on his wrist and he pulls Harry back. Harry has never wanted to hit someone so much in his life. Duncan might be the only exception.

 

“Olly, I swear to god--“ Harry says as he settles him with a menacing glare, his lips curled back and teeth clenched.

 

“Shh,” Olly whispers and then raises his voice to speak to Louis, “can we help you?”

 

There’s an awkward cough and then Louis’ voice turns pleading and soft. Harry tries to rip his arm away from Olly but Olly is damn strong for someone who’s quite a great deal smaller than Harry.

 

“Can I please just talk to Harry? _Please_.”

 

“Go on then,” Olly sighs, knowing it’s a lost cause.

 

Perhaps because Harry’s wriggling in his grip like an excitable puppy. He shoots daggers at Olly once more for good measure and then launches himself at the door, swinging it open with relief. He finds Louis pacing the hallway outside, one hand working over his hair, the other shaking at his side.

 

“Harry,” Louis rasps when he hears the door creak.

 

He turns Harry’s way and stills, looking Harry over from head to foot carefully while his brow creases with confusion.

 

“You’re not---“

 

“Are you okay Lou?” Harry asks, moving toward him.

 

His hands go to Louis’ shoulders but Louis shakes him off and stalks out through the hallway to the kitchen. He turns and leans back against the fridge, his mouth drawn tight. It’s perfectly aligned with the controlled anger in his flashing blue eyes. Harry chooses to keep a fair amount of space between them, resting his bum up against the edge of the bench on the other side of the room. This seems to be the wrong move because Louis snorts and rolls his eyes.

 

“Lou?” Harry says tentatively.

 

“I thought Olly wasn’t your type,” Louis snaps, drumming his fingers impatiently against his bicep, like he’s just itching to throw things, presumably at Harry.

 

Harry is completely taken aback. This is not what he had expected...not at all. The realisation dawns on him as he watches Louis’ eyes flit back and forth between his face and the hallway from which Olly is yet to emerge. Louis is distinctly bothered and Harry can’t make any kind of assumptions about why but suddenly Olly’s actions seem a lot more like a poorly executed plan to help him than a strange kink. Olly was in his own well-intentioned, albeit misguided way, trying to aid Harry’s cause.

 

Louis hadn’t heard the impact of Olly’s elbow with Harry’s stomach; all he’d heard was Harry’s obscene groans and Olly’s dirty talk. _He thinks we’re dating._ The realisation winds Harry all over again because if the fuel to Louis’ fiery outburst was what he _heard,_ what does that mean for them? Is it even possible that Louis could get that worked up over the idea of them having sex?

 

“He’s not,” Harry says with a purposefully blank look, enjoying this a little more than he should.

 

Louis clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a sigh and crosses his arms. He directs a murderous look past Harry and down the hall.

 

“That’s not what it sounded like,” he says, tone full of accusation.

 

Harry chuckles without meaning to and Louis’ eyes snap back to him like a rubber band stretched to breaking point. He sucks in his cheeks like he’s trying to control himself and Harry has a hard time containing his desire to mouth along the angry planes of his face.

 

“Oh that?” Harry clarifies, pointing back behind himself, “that was just...Olly messing around. Thought it would be funny if we, you know...made some noises.”

 

“Funny?”

 

Louis arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

 

Harry nods and then grins, shrugging sheepishly.

 

“Boys will be boys.”

 

Louis huffs and then leans back further against the fridge, one leg bending up so that his foot is tucked beneath his thigh and perched on the clean, white surface. He turns his head away from Harry, his fringe falling across his face. There’s so much childish petulance in the action that Harry can only continue to laugh.

 

“You’re not dating?” Louis asks gruffly.

 

Harry shakes his head, only realising after he’s done it that Louis’ not looking at him still. Louis’ head turns back to him when he receives no response and he leans forward, his tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip. Hs blue eyes pierce Harry’s own with their own special mix of apprehension and steely eyed anger.

 

“Well?” He demands.

 

 

“No,” Harry says, voice suddenly hoarse as his mind’s eye centers on the unintentionally lewd drag of Louis’ small tongue over his soft lips, “no we’re not dating. Just mates. He has a girlfriend now actually...her name’s Caroline.”

 

Louis points an accusing finger at Harry’s face.

 

“But you said---“ Louis’ voice rises and Harry knows where this is going.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry cuts him off, perfectly composed, “you assumed.”

 

“I did fucking not,” Louis bursts out, kicking his foot against Harry’s fringe with a dark look in Harry’s direction.

 

“Louis--“

 

“Well you could have fucking corrected me Harry,” Louis curses, flicking his fringe out of his eyes with an angry hiss.

 

It falls back to the same position a minute later and Louis goes cross-eyed as he glares at the stubborn strands of his hair. He lets out a mutinous but rather feminine sounding growl and Harry can’t do away with the fond grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He crosses the kitchen in an instant, standing before Louis who looks up at him from between the gaps in his fridge with tempered rage. Harry gently pushes his fringe to the side, his mouth twitching chaotically as he watches Louis’ eyes go momentarily soft. Then Louis determinedly slams his anger back into place.

 

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” Harry says, with a quiet grin.

 

 He reaches up to trace the angry folds of skin atop Louis’ button nose. Louis looks mutinous.

 

“Yeah well I’m about to get really fucking adorable.”

 

He purposefully knocks Harry’s hand away and then stabs Harry’s chest, walking him back across the room with predatory eyes. It’s kind of hot, the way Louis forces him back across the room with such conviction even though he looks like a small, scrunched up elf. Harry has to fight hard not to drop to his knees. When hits bum hits the bench again, Louis stops, finger still pressed to Harry’s chest. His breathing comes thick and fast and his eyes drop to Harry’s mouth.

 

“Never let me make such a fucking arse out of myself again,” he breathes, hellish blue eyes stuck on Harry’s mouth as his tongue slips out to wet his own.

 

 _Yes, anything...of course Louis_. Harry is willing to sign over the rights to his soul just so long as Louis will continue looking at him like this, so heated and direct. Louis’ eyes haven’t moved from his lips and Harry wonders what would happen if he pressed their mouths together. Would Louis press back? Would he gasp into Harry’s mouth? Would his tongue move gently against Harry’s the way his body always seems to do when Harry touches him?

 

“I won’t,” Harry promises quickly, “I’m sorry.”

 

Louis’ eyes linger on his mouth for what feels like an eternity and Harry just watches, waiting for something...some kind of sign that Louis wants this as much as he does. Harry’s body is thrumming with it. Of course, thanks to the wonders of his choice in mates, that’s when Olly wanders back into the kitchen.

 

“Right lads,” he yells, too loud.  Harry and Louis jump, Louis springing away from him as though burned, “I think I’ll make a move.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says, voice thick with emotion. He meets Olly halfway for a bro hug and then whispers in his ear, “you’re crazy but I think you maybe did me a favour.”

 

Olly smirks at him and then turns to Louis, holding his hand out in a peace offering of sorts.

 

“No hard feelings...right mate?”

 

Louis hesitates, his eyes flitting to Harry. Then he clasps Olly’s hand firmly and shakes, a slightly subdued smile opening up his mouth.

 

“I’m sorry about before,” he says, “don’t know what got into me.”

 

“I think I do,” Olly says cheerily, waggling his eyebrows, “or rather what _hasn’t_ gotten into you.”

 

“I thought you were leaving,” Harry says, pushing Olly towards the door as Louis trails a step behind, not saying a word, “time to go Olly.”

 

Harry opens the door and Olly eyes Louis over Harry’s shoulder, leaning in to peck Harry’s cheek with a whisper of “you’re welcome” before he slips out the door. When Harry turns around, Louis is biting his lip distractingly.

 

“Bit of a flirt your mate Olly, isn’t he?”

 

“Bit,” Harry concedes, smiling weakly.

 

Thankfully Louis just shakes his head with a sigh and then offers Harry a genuine crinkly smile.

 

“So when do we start dinner?” He asks.

 

Harry chuckles.

 

“What is this ‘we’? I don’t think you’re going to be of much use.”

 

“Sorry Jamie Oliver,” Louis says with a snarky tone and a roll of his eyes, “just because a good pot noodle isn’t up to your superior standards...”

 

Harry giggles and then pads into the kitchen, listening to the soft sounds of Louis’ feet following. Once there, Harry turns and drops to his knees. Louis’ lips part slightly and he looks a little wonderstruck even as he raises an eyebrow in an attempt at superiority. Harry grins at him and then lifts his foot, slipping his shoe off and then the sock before moving to do the other.

 

“Can’t have uncomfortable house guests,” he explains with a wink, “it’s bad for my reputation.”

 

Louis snorts but when Harry squeezes the bottoms of his feet, running his thumbs across the tops of his toes, he lets out a high pitched keen and curls them into Harry’s hands. When Harry stands, Louis leans forward and brushes his lips across his cheekbone and if Harry’s not mistaken, he brushes his mouth right across the spot where Olly had kissed him.

 

“Thank you,” Louis sighs.

 

Harry’s returned sigh is just as contented.

 

“You’re welcome Lou.”

 

Harry gets started on a simple chicken stir fry while Louis sits up on the counter again, swinging his feet and talking to Hugh Grant who wandered in to nibble at his food and has since planted himself at Louis’ feet. Harry can’t help the swing in his hips or the glow in his smile every time he turns in Louis’ direction and catches his eye. Louis looks like he belongs here, sitting in Harry’s kitchen, acting like the world’s most useless sous chef and chatting to an animal he claims to despise. Harry finds himself humming silly love songs under his breath.

 

“Your dad is such a dork,” Louis’ saying in a baby voice, the corners of his mouth turning pointy as Hugh Grant mewls his agreement, “I mean, have you seen his fridge magnets?”

 

Harry may or may not have a collection of fruit and vegetable magnets that he’s sourced online over the years. Zayn usually gets him one or two new ones for his birthday each year.

 

“They’ll be worth a fortune one day,” Harry argues, stirring the chicken round the pot with an amused quirk in his mouth, “my collection will be part of my children’s inheritance.”

 

Louis leans across to pinch his cheek and Harry grins, not fighting too hard to pull away.

 

“I worry about you Styles,” Louis says, despairing, “you and your pretty green eyed, curly haired babies.”

 

“I think I want to adopt,” Harry blurts out, blushing a little as he goes back to stirring the ingredients around the pan.

 

Louis’ silent for a moment and Harry feels like he might have made a tit out of himself but then Louis squeezes the side of his arm and Harry looks up to find his expression full of softness and something else, something much deeper.

 

“I think that’s wonderful Harry,” he says, his tone throaty.

 

“Thanks,” Harry smiles weakly at him, “I guess once upon a time I did want my own babies more than somebody else’s but then I realised that I could change the course of someone’s entire life by being their adoptive dad. I could make sure that a child knew they were wanted and loved.”

 

“The way you never did? Louis asks and there’s caution in his voice.

 

“Yeah,” Harry says brusquely, busying himself with adding more spices.

 

“Harry.”

 

Harry continues stirring, not brave enough to look at Louis when his emotions are so visible in his face, when they’re beating in his chest with such fervor and welling up in his eyes. What he wouldn’t give to be able to prevent some poor child from ever feeling the kind of loneliness he felt when he closed his arms around his mum’s waist as a child and she pushed him away, muttering some excuse about having more important things to do.

 

Harry wasn’t naïve. He knew just how many children had it a lot worse than he ever did, some having never known their parents at all but that that only made his desire to save each and every one of them stronger. He knew he couldn’t, save them all, that is but he didn’t have any qualms about becoming the next Angelina. He has the lips for it, that’s for sure.

 

“Harry, look at me love.”

 

Harry slowly raises his head and Louis reaches out and thumbs at the corner of his eye, catching the sole tear there and then massaging the side of his temple.

 

“You’re so gorgeous Harry. I mean it, the person that you are and what you do with yourself...it’s gorgeous. I mean, maybe that’s why I got so worked up earlier,” a steely resolve fills Louis’ eyes as if he’s just figured out the solution to a difficult math problem, “because I don’t want to see you in the arms of anybody who doesn’t meet your complete goodness with their own.”

 

It’s ironic, Louis’ words, hypocritical in fact but then, can it be hypocritical? Louis is clearly oblivious to what Harry wants for him. Harry just wants Louis to be met with the same kind of kindness and spirit that he gives out but Louis doesn’t seem to share that sentiment. At least, not when it comes to himself.

 

Still, beyond all that there’s a more pressing thought taking up space inside Harry’s head and maybe it shouldn’t be as important as the rest of it but somehow it is. It’s the thought that Louis wasn’t jealous at all. He was just...looking out for Harry. It’s a nice thing to do and it should fill Harry with warmth, the idea that Louis is intimately concerned with what he deserves but somehow the sentiment falls flat. Harry wants more than nice and more than platonic kindness. For some god unknown reason, Harry finds himself still hoping that Louis will force him up against the fridge and tell him that he doesn’t want to see Harry with anybody else.

 

“Thank you,” Harry says, feeling empty.

 

He can tell that it filters through to his voice because Louis’ brow creases and Harry can feel his gaze, even while he directs his own back to their dinner. Harry ignores the hurt that floods his chest. If Louis is that oblivious to Harry’s feelings for him, then he must not feel anything at all. Not for Harry anyway. Harry is quite sure that even after whatever happened between them tonight that saw Louis kicked out, Louis will still rush back to Duncan tomorrow with his tail between his legs, begging for forgiveness for something he didn’t even do wrong.

 

.......

 

“I’ll just sleep out here again,” Louis says, knocking his head against his shoulder in the direction of the couch.

 

Harry has just turned both the TV and the lights off so that the only light in the room comes from the DVD player and the reflection of the hallway light in the television screen. Harry frowns and shakes his head in response to Louis.

 

“No, you can sleep in my bed,” Louis eyebrows jump and Harry rests a placating hand on his shoulder, “not with me...obviously. I’ll sleep out here. I think you need a big, fluffy soft bed tonight and I won’t take no for an answer.”

 

Louis smiles fondly but crosses his arms over his chest, looking up at Harry with a challenge in his coral blue eyes.

 

“Well I’m not moving Styles.”

 

Harry could easily toss Louis over his shoulder and carry him off to bed but he actually has a better idea, one that involves far less struggle. So instead he gently pushes Louis into a lying position and then gathers the coverlet placed on the other couch in his arms. He settles it over Louis and then tucks the sides into the bottom of the cushions; all while Louis watches him with a half lidded, concentrated stare that feels too hot on Harry’s skin. He slides a pillow beneath Louis’ head and then before he can catch himself, brushes Louis fringe away from his forehead and kisses the soft skin there.

 

This is different from the last time. This time Louis is awake and breathing heavily beneath him. This time when Harry pulls away, Louis’ hand darts out from beneath the doona to grip his thigh, squeezing tightly. He doesn’t say a word but his eyes are shining and he looks like he might be about to cry, only this time it seems less tortured and more...enlightened. Harry lets his eyes fall across Louis’ feathered eyelashes, to the curves of his cheeks and then to the small swell of his mouth.

 

“Night Lou,” he says, all hushed and whispered but with a twinkle in his eye.

 

Louis still doesn’t speak but he pulls his hand up above the coverlet and wriggles his delicate fingers in an adorably awkward wave. _Hi, you’re very small_. Harry can’t help wondering just how silky Louis’ tiny digits would feel against his lips or buried in the warm, wet heat of his mouth. That thought makes him finally pull away and walk to his room, although admittedly, he drags his feet the whole way. Once inside, he sets his alarm for an hour later and then pulls his jeans and shirt away, leaving him in just his dark briefs. He slides beneath the covers and waits for his pulse to stop jumping so erratically before he closes his eyes and gives in to the onset of sleep.

 

.......

 

Harry awakens to the buzzing of his alarm and slides out of bed with a groan, his eyes still half shut as his lumbered steps carry him to the kitchen and beyond. The only thing that is able to liven him up is the Louis that he’s presented with when he turns the flashlight on his phone on and gazes down at the couch. This Louis is vulnerable and delicate and so very lovely. The coverlet’s been kicked off, exposing Louis’ thick plush red jumper that he’d changed into earlier. Harry had very nearly melted into the cushions when Louis had emerged from the room earlier, scratching at the side of his bare waist, his hair all rumpled from having pulled the jumper over his head. The loose sweats managed to somehow shape his tiny waist and toned thighs perfectly while still emphasising the subtle rise of his plump hips and that perfect soft layer of skin around his stomach.

 

Now the jumper is pushed up past Louis’ belly button, exposing a band of exotic, softly token skin. Louis’ sockless feet are drawn up behind his thighs and his whole body is bent in half to preserve warmth. The best part by far is the way his arms are curled around Hugh Grant’s sleeping form, completely buried in his fur as if Louis had fallen asleep petting him. He’s effectively spooning his kitten and Harry is going to die of heart failure right here.

 

Instead, he sets to work, pulling Hugh Grant from Louis’ arms much to their dual displeasure. Hugh Grant mewls sadly so Harry presses a kiss to his fur and plants him on the carpet. Louis huffs in his sleep and his eyelids crinkle with tension. He really does like to cuddle then. Harry sweeps Louis up into his arms, amused by the way Louis flops back against him, totally pliant.

 

Harry carries him to bed, barely flinching under Louis’ weight. He stands in his room, eyeing the two sides of the bed with indecision but then shrugs and figures Louis will never know the difference anyway. He gently places Louis down on his side of the bed and tucks him in. He sits on the bed beside him for a moment, just gazing at Louis’ features, so open and relaxed with sleep.

 

“You’re so hurt baby,” he murmurs, “you’re so hurt and you don’t even know. You don’t want to. You don’t want to confront the way he makes you feel or how much damage he’s done in here,” Harry presses the pad of his thumb to Louis’ forehead, “I wish you would. Lou, I just want you to be happy,” Harry’s thumb trails back and forth over the curve of Louis’ forehead, “it’s all I’ve thought about since that first time I saw you...making you smile,” Harry’s thumb drops to press at the corner of Louis’ mouth, “and I don’t know if I can do it...if I can be the one to help you confront your demons but I’ll try darling. I’ll try so hard for you.”

 

Harry strokes Louis’ cheekbone tenderly and then shifts away from Louis, pulling himself into a standing position. As he takes a step away from the bed, a tiny hand reaches out and grabs his, shocking him into squeaking.

 

“Stay,” Louis rasps, his voice breaking with traces of sleep, “Harry, stay.”

 

Harry turns back to Louis to find two bleary blue eyes blinking up at him in the slight chink of light that shines through from the curtains. Louis’ eyes shine even more brightly in the dim light, so artfully compelling. They flicker like tea lights bending in the wind. He looks like some kind of fairy; a nymph-like creature inhabiting Harry’s bed and swallowing him whole with one sweep of his eyelashes and a casually bitten lip.

 

“Lou--“

 

“I want you to,” Louis whines, squeezing Harry’s fingers and tugging to pull him closer, “please stay and talk to me.”

 

Harry’s not made of steel and his will is only really as strong as his memory. Right now he doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want to remember that he swore he’d never get in this deep or that the guy that Louis’ in love with is probably asleep on the other side of this wall. He only wants this, this one moment where the rest of it doesn’t matter. He lets go of Louis’ fingers and Louis cries out and stretches his fingers outward. It makes Harry’s heart expand beyond comprehension and he shakes his head at Louis, smiling softly as he gets in the other side of the bed.

 

“I’m not going anywhere love.”

 

Louis nods, wide eyed and as soon as Harry slips under the doona, he tangles their fingers together again, rolling onto his side and forcing Harry to do the same. He lays their interlocked hands right next to his own face and then moves his head forward so his cheek rests lightly upon the back of Harry’s hand, sending shivers of warmth all up Harry’s forearm.

 

Harry simply can’t stop looking at how good their hands look together, milky white against honey toned silk. Louis’ hand is so small in his but his fingers fit perfectly between the gaps in Harry’s own, like they were made for him specially. Harry’s disturbingly sappy thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden realisation that while Louis’ covered in a jumper and soft grey pants, he himself only has on a pair of thin, tight briefs. He cringes and Louis’ other hand comes up to trace the lines around his eyes.

 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his tone anxious and his fingers shaking around Harry’s, “is this...is this not okay?”

 

“God, no,” Harry says swiftly and then watches in horror as Louis’ skin flushes pink and he tries to pull his hand from Harry’s.

 

Harry’s so horrified at the thought of having to let go that his arm circles the side of Louis’ waist and holds tight, tugging Louis across the mattress so that there’s no more than a couple of centimeters space between them. Their stomachs are so close that they’re near to grazing. Their noses skim along each other and Louis looks up at him with confusion. Harry’s arm is still around him and he can feel Louis’ bare skin brushing against his arm where Louis’ jumper must have ridden up again. Harry pulls his arm away quickly, lest it burst into flames.

 

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, bringing his hand up to comb through the side of Louis’ hair, “...I didn’t mean that. It’s fine but I’m...“

 

“You’re?” Louis prompts, eyebrows arched.

 

Harry lowers his eyes to his own body, covered by the doona.

 

“I’m not wearing anything but underwear.”

 

“Oh,” Louis eyes pop, “right. Um...”

 

“I can change,” Harry assures him quickly, trying to extricate himself from Louis’ hand, “I’ll put something on so you-“

 

“No,” Louis squeezes his hand and then his other hand disappears beneath the covers. Harry jumps as he feels the warm, soft press of Louis’ palm against the center of his chest.“I don’t mind. Can I...”

 

Louis trails off, chewing the corner of his lip as his fingers close in a tight fist. Then they stretch out along the planes of Harry’s chest. He does this a few more times as Harry holds his breath, waiting for the rest of the question, his skin tingling beneath Louis’ touch.

 

“Can I try something?” He says eventually.

 

Harry watches his Adam’s apple bob in his throat while he swallows noisily.

 

“Okay...” he agrees nervously.

 

Louis’ gaze shifts down away from his and then his hand begins to move beneath the covers. He moves it across Harry’s chest to brush against one of his nipples and then presses his palm down a little firmer like he might be trying to evoke a response. Harry blushes as his nipple presses eagerly against Louis’ palm but Louis’ shy, bitten half smile tells Harry that he might not mind so much.

 

Then Louis’ hand continues its journey, falling down his chest in stilted movements that easily reveal his nerves. He squeezes Harry’s love handle gently and then his palm moves across to the space just below Harry’s belly button; his scant happy trail. When Louis presses the heel of his palm down against it, Harry can feel him tremble. Then he sighs, like this is all he’s wanted to do since the first time he met Harry. Harry finds himself making a similar noise. Louis’ hand floats back up without touching and then he presses it to the very top of Harry’s chest, rubbing back and forth.

 

“You’re not as hairy as him,” he says quietly, eyes dead serious.

 

Harry chortles anyway. It’s the lightest he’s felt at the mention of Duncan.

 

“That’s what this was about? The fact that I’m like some kind of hairless kitten?” Harry pouts, “I can’t help that I’m not as masculine.”

 

“No,” Louis’ lips turn up and he spreads his whole hand flat across Harry’s chest, “no I like it. It’s...soft. Like silk. When I kiss Duncan’s chest, I get hair in my mouth...it’s icky.”

 

Harry shakes off the image as quick as humanly possible and then tucks a finger beneath Louis’ chin, tilting his face up just because he can.

 

“Icky? What are you...ten?” He teases.

 

Louis pushes him away slightly but he’s still gripping Harry’s hand tight.

 

“Sorry, Mr. Superior Vocabulary. Do tell, what is the life of a grammar Nazi like?”

 

Louis’ smile is sweet and his expression playful so Harry pouts theatrically.

 

“I’m not a grammar Nazi!”

 

“Do you or do you not correct people when they use the wrong ‘their’?”

 

“That doesn’t count,” Harry grumbles, “people who consistently use the wrong ‘their’ are highly irritating.”

 

“Okay,” Louis grins, “that might be true.”

 

“Is this what you wanted to talk about?” Harry asks, a beat later, “grammar rules and the lack of hair on my chest?”

 

Louis shakes his head, looking thoroughly amused.

 

“What then?” Harry says, tilting his head a little so their eyes line up completely, his tone much softer than he intended.

 

Up close, Louis’ eyes look like tiny blue planets floating in amongst the space-like darkness of his pupils. Like crystallized, spherical oceans swirling around a dark abyss. It’s captivating.

 

“Let’s play confessions. You go first.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes but obeys anyway of course, his thumb stroking the outside of Louis’ hand. Louis clears his throat and squeezes his hand in response.

 

“The first boy I kissed said my lips were too big. He said he felt like he was being smothered.”

 

Louis bursts into laughter and presses the sound against Harry’s pillow. Harry wonders if he’ll still be able to smell Louis in his bed when he inevitably leaves tomorrow morning.

 

“’S not funny,” Harry complains, half hearted, “he wouldn’t kiss me again.”

 

“What a fucking idiot,” Louis mumbles, face still buried in the pillow, “your lips are plump and kind of perfect Harold. Hadn’t the kid ever heard of a blowjob?”

 

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh but it comes out more like a giggle. Louis raises his head to bestow him with a gentle, perhaps slightly admiring smile. It makes Harry’s toes tingle.

 

“Your turn.”

 

Louis hums for a moment and then chuckles quietly to himself.

 

“Okay, well...the first guy that I slept with, he was like really into...feet.”

 

“Feet?” Harry squeaks, dimples nudging the insides of his cheeks.

 

He laughs to himself as Louis smiles unconsciously at his response.

 

“Yes, feet. We were getting down to the good stuff and I think he’s about to, you know, enter me,” Harry shivers at the way Louis’ voice drops with those words, “but instead his mouth closes around my toes and he starts suckling on them, like he’s trying to extract the sweat from my skin.”

 

This time Harry shudders.

 

“Eugh,” he shakes his head to himself and then stills, zoning in on Louis’ bashful expression, “wait...you said he was the first guy you---you still slept with him!?”

 

“I was a horny teenager,” Louis says defensively, “and apart from the foot thing, he was good. Experienced. Showed me what to do.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Harry concedes, “my turn again.”

 

Louis nods, looking enthusiastic and it’s wonderful that Louis’ so interested in his life. Even if he can’t be interested in Harry himself.

 

“I feel bad for the vegetables that everybody hates.”

 

Louis lets out a surprised honk of a laugh and pushes closer, their legs pressed against each other. Then he tucks his cold toes between Harry’s calves. Harry tries not to react but his heart is pumping extra hard in his chest.

 

“Why Harold? Why?!” Louis questions with amused disbelief.

 

“It’s just...they need love too,” Harry whines, his own mouth climbing as Louis’ eyes crease at the sides and his teeth poke through his lips, “they never get any attention. So like, if there’s brussel sprouts served at Christmas...I always eat a whole heap.”

 

“Harry, do you like brussel sprouts?”

 

“Well, no,” Harry admits reluctantly.

 

Louis giggles and this time he presses it into the front of Harry’s bare shoulder. His damp lips brush against Harry’s warm skin and Harry never wants to wipe away the moisture that remains as Louis pulls back, eyes alight.

 

“You’re absurd,” he says, for what just might be the millionth time, “but a bit cute.”

 

“A bit?” Harry asks, dimples on full display. He shuffles closer and noses at Louis neck, snuffling like a wet nosed puppy, “mm,” he hums, “You smell so good Lou.”

 

Louis pushes him back with a shaky laugh.

 

“Stop that. You know you’re adorable, why do you need me to say it?”

 

Harry shrugs and Louis rolls his eyes.

 

“Tell me your favourite song,” Harry says quietly.

 

Louis bites his lip again, looking up at the ceiling as he considers the question.

 

“The way you look tonight by Tony Bennett.”

 

“That’s so cheesy Lou,” Harry grins, his knees weak, “I wouldn’t expect that from you.”

 

Louis pushes the tips of his fingers into Harry’s dimple and then he’s singing, a soft whispered melody that drips from his lips like liquid gold. His eyes roll up and down Harry’s face, as though trying to memorise this exact moment. Harry’s hand tightens on his.

 

“ _Someday when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight_.”

 

“Oh but you’re lovely,” Harry sings back, stroking Louis’ temple and then brushing a hand through his hair, “with your smile so warm,” Harry taps his mouth and it bends beneath his touch.

 

“Tell me yours,” Louis sighs, snuggling down into the pillow, his eye stretched out into a slanted shape.

 

“My favourite right now?” Harry clarifies, not giving Louis a chance to respond before giving his answer, “Hiding my heart by Adele. _This is how the story went, I met someone by accident who blew me away. He blew me away_.”

 

“More,” Louis urges, his eyes slipping closed as he smiles peacefully, listening but not hearing; never hearing, “your voice is lovely Harry.”

 

“ _I wish I could lay down beside you_

_When the day is done,_

_And wake up to your face against the morning sun_

_But like everything I’ve ever known_

_You’ll disappear one day_

_So I’ll spend my whole life hiding my heart away.”_

“Tell me something Lou,” Harry says after a beat of silence, waiting for Louis’ eyelashes to flutter open before he continues, “would you ever leave him?”

 

Louis blinks back at him for a moment and his breath hitches.

 

“I don’t know,” he breathes, “I don’t know anymore.”

 

It’s not “yes, of course I’ll leave him for you Harry” and “I’ll belong in your kitchen and your bed permanently” but it’s not a definitive, “no, what the fuck?” Harry thinks that it might be easier for Louis to be honest with himself and with Harry too under the cover of darkness. The confessions he makes here don’t have to mean anything in the light of day. Maybe Louis knows that or maybe he just wants to get Harry off his back. Then Louis starts talking and Harry’s brain shuts up.

 

“I love him. I do. I mean...I have to because I have for three years and it can’t mean nothing. He was so good to me Harry. Really. He made me feel so perfect to begin with and somewhere along the line, it just got messed up. Some days I think he honestly hates me and I want to change,” Louis says emphatically, his eyes like two lopsided, sad marbles, “I want to be better. Maybe if I could...could be better somehow, he would remember why we fell in love.”

 

“Louis,” Harry says, curling his leg over the outside of Louis’, “Christ Lou. You’re not...you’re never going to be perfect for him and you shouldn’t have to be. So what if you have to squeeze into your jeans? So what if you like nail polish or watching friends or being playful with your guy mates? Those little things are just more reasons to fall in love with you,” Louis’ eyes water and Harry catches the drops, “you can’t sort people’s qualities into good and bad if you love them. Because if you love them, everything matters. Even the things that shit you to tears. The crinkles by your eyes, the way you drink your tea, the flick of your wrist...it’s all _you_ and he can’t just order the best parts and hold the rest.”

 

“It sounds so simple when you say it,” Louis says, voice thick, “like everything I need to know is what you’re saying to me but I don’t feel it when I’m with him. I just want to prove myself. I just want to deserve him.”

 

“And what about him deserving you, huh? What about what you want in a boyfriend? What do you want Lou?” Harry asks, softening his voice.

 

Louis swallows and then his hand is falling down Harry’s body to clasp his hip. He keeps his hand there, his eyes on his other hand wrapped around Harry’s as he talks.

 

“I want somebody who will make me breakfast and wash my clothes because they want to. Because they know I’m hopeless at it and because it makes them feel special to be the one who gets to look after me. Someone who doesn’t hold it over my head, like it’s just another fault in who I am,” Louis swallows loudly, “I want someone who will let me flick between friends, footie and x factor. I want someone who will simply laugh and weakly chastise me for being flirty with the delivery guy and someone who will be proud and only slightly jealous when someone looks at me for a beat too long. I want to be kissed goodbye like distance actually means something and kissed hello like it couldn’t.... like it couldn’t have come sooner. I want to know,” Louis takes a shaky breath and Harry gives up his pretense of letting Louis work the kinks out on his own, reaching a hand around to rub his back comfortingly, “I want to know...” he continues, “that I’m not disgusting to look at. If I could just be sure that the person that I love wants me.”

 

Harry’s blood boils and his whole body coils up tight with rage.

 

“Is that what he said to you?” he demands, “that you disgust him?”

 

Louis doesn’t answer but a few more tears spill down his cheeks and his chest is heaving as he looks at Harry. He looks at Harry like he might be able to solve it all or as though he might have some kind of answer as to why it’s happened to him this way. Harry does. He just wishes Louis were ready to hear it.

 

“Sweetheart,” Harry coos, watching Louis’ mouth wobble, “you’re not disgusting. Please don’t listen to that. You’re beautiful Lou. So beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off you in that shoot. I promise you that nobody else thinks you’re disgusting. Even he doesn’t. He’s just trying to hurt you and he knows all your weak spots.”

 

“B...but-“

 

“No,” Harry presses his mouth to Louis’ temple, “you’re not what he said you are. You’re not what he makes you feel.”

 

“Harry,” Louis whines and presses a hand to the back of his neck, keeping him close.

 

Harry buries his fingers in the back of Louis’ hair and massages his scalp until he feels Louis’ body relax and his muffled sobs turn into quiet breaths. He pulls away and gazes at Louis, so endeared. Then he pulls himself off the bed and quietly pulls the stack of papers from his drawer. He bites his lip for a total of ten minutes, his eyes flicking between the dotted line and Louis’ sleeping form with worry. Eventually Louis makes his mind up for him, letting out a quiet whimper in his sleep.

 

“Disgusting.”

 

“You’re not baby,” Harry sighs, saddened by Louis’ lack of belief in himself.

 

He’s unable to help using what is quickly becoming his secret pet name for Louis. He signs the papers with a quick flourish of his pen and then returns them to the drawer, his mind racing. This could be a stroke of brilliance or a horrible mistake on his part but either way, Harry knows it’s going to change everything for Louis. It’s going to change everything he thought he knew. Harry falls asleep watching Louis’ chest puff in and out and wondering how someone so small could be the single most monumental thing to ever happen to him.

 

......

 

“Just think about what we talked about please,” Harry begs, handing Louis’ bag to him as Louis steps backward out the flat.

 

“I will,” Louis vows but the promise feels empty.

 

Everything they talked about last night feels frightening and confronting. Had Louis really considered for a moment that he might one day leave Duncan? In the light of the day, it feels like somebody else lay with Harry in his bed. Somebody else touched his soft chest and whispered confessions into their shared space, trading silly stories and favourite songs.

 

“Okay...” Harry says with a frown, as if he knows exactly what Louis’ thinking.

 

“Thank you for letting me stay again,” Louis says to distract him.

 

Harry pulls him into a close, tight hug and Louis has to pat his hip just to be let down. It bothers him that he knows what that bare, thick hip feels like beneath his fingers.

 

“You’re welcome. Any time Lou. I mean it.”

 

Louis nods and smiles genuinely at him. Harry mirrors his soft expression before gently closing the door. There’s still a trace of a pleasant smile on Louis’ lips as he turns around and finds himself toe to toe with Duncan, breathing loudly out through his nose. Duncan looks crazed as he digs his fingers into Louis’ bicep and pushes him through the open door of their flat.

 

“Thought you could fucking fool me all over again? That you could just sleep with that pretentious fucker and then come back to me like nothing even happened?”

 

“No!” Louis shouts, panic rising as Duncan advances on him, “no I didn’t do anything. I stayed with him...on the couch, that’s all.”

 

“You fucking liar,” Duncan roars and a second later Louis goes crashing to the floor as Duncan pushes him hard enough to unbalance.

 

When Louis finally gathers the strength to look up, he finds himself looking into the mad eyes of a possessed monster. Louis waits for the impact and Duncan winds up. _I wonder,_ he thinks in a detached part of his brain, _I wonder if I’ll still be able to breathe when he’s done with me. Maybe I won’t want to._

 

To be continued....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually go for cliffhangers but these two chapters lead themselves surprisingly well to that end and I thought why not?! Hopefully I'll get the next chapter to you sooner rather than later xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...but there's cuteness I swear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there is some tough stuff in this chapter but I hope that it won't scare you away and that you'll stick around for the fluffiness in this chapter and the ones that will follow it (there's some sickly sweet stuff coming I promise.) I think it was important for me to write this the way I did because as much as it hurt and as much as it took everything within me to put myself in that position and imagine what it would be like, I wanted to do so because I don't think that we, as writers AND readers shouldn't necessarily always shy away from the things we find confronting. Domestic abuse is confronting but it's something that needs to be talked about more and I think the message I tried to get across with the chapter is that abuse isn't something that happens to weak people...abuse is something that weakens even the strongest of us. It might be harder on those of us with self esteem issues but at the end of the day, that doesn't make somebody weak...just hurt and in need of special care. I hope that this chapter will mean something to someone, somewhere, someday and that you will all appreciate how much of myself I put into this. I am so afraid that it's too lighthearted or not realistic enough and I really want to do justice to people's real life experiences so please let me know if I haven't.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know how you feel, what you think or even what you've been through. Thank you for reading :)
> 
> P.s My last fic reached 200 kudos which is just amazing for me so thank you so much. I love you all.

The hard surface of Duncan’s shoe hits Louis’ side and he cries out, a wounded animal gasping as his body jerks and then slumps forward with shock. Tears smart in his eyes but he pushes up onto his knees, trembling all over.

 

“Please,” he whimpers, “please don’t do this.”

                                                                                                                               

Duncan snorts, as though this were a normal, everyday conversation about Louis wearing socks or hanging his towel up after a shower. He snorts as if it were ludicrous of Louis to expect any kind of mercy. A lost little boy inside of Louis tells him that it’s warranted, that Duncan’s rage comes from a sense of betrayal, no matter how false. A deeper, darker part of him believes it’s warranted because of the way he’d lain with Harry last night, the walls between them crumbling to smithereens as he’d let himself share intimate touches and whispered confessions.

 

Louis had felt something wriggling insistently inside of him when he’d woken up to the sight of Harry walking away after having carried him to bed. He hadn’t given a thought for the consequences when he’d pulled Harry back and asked him to stay. Louis had lain there next to him, almost skin to skin and had gazed into incandescent green eyes while a solar flare burst inside. Yet he’d ignored the way his skin blazed with heat; a rush of feeling flowing into his chest and exploding into wildfire. He staunchly denied the way his stomach arced high and swooped low as he swept his hand over Harry’s soft, hairless skin, as he pressed his fingers to the almost non-existent happy trail leading into Harry’s pants.

 

Now, Louis can’t help but feel that maybe he deserves this. He can’t bear it but maybe he should. He’s gotten too close to Harry, closer than he’s gotten to anybody in the last three years. It’s not right and while Duncan’s accusation of cheating is false, Louis can’t pretend that he didn’t do something he knew Duncan would be uncomfortable with. Louis would never previously have said that a victim of domestic violence deserves it. Yet sitting here on his haunches, staring up at Duncan with vain hope, he doesn’t know if he can even call himself that; a victim. If he’d just gone to his mum’s like Duncan expected, none of this would have happened.

 

“It’s a bit too late to beg now that you’ve had his cock up your arse, “Duncan snarls. “Did it make you feel better Lou?”

 

“W...what?” Louis stutters.

 

Duncan’s expression turns volatile and he draws back, releasing a hard kick into Louis’ gut. It knocks Louis back onto his side, his breath escaping him in short gasps while pain ripples through his body. He meets Duncan’s grim satisfaction with eyes blurred with tears and a breath that comes shuddering to the surface. His throat tightens around that tiny exhalation of air and his chest beings to heave visibly.

 

“Does it make you feel better...thinking that he might have you when I’m done, that you can just go sit on his cock when I’ve got no more use for you?” Duncan steps around Louis’ body and then sends another forceful kick into his aching torso. Louis winces, his breathless sobs coming thick and fast. Duncan just continues to speak in that genteel, smooth tone which raises the hairs on Louis’ neck, “but he doesn’t really love you, does he Lou? He knows you’re dirty and broken. He doesn’t want any part of that.”

 

Louis knows somewhere in the back of his mind that it contradicts everything Harry has ever said to him and the gentle, compassionate way he has always treated him, even from the very beginning. Harry has never given him the impression that he didn’t think Louis worthy of his friendship, the opposite really. However under the pressure of Duncan’s cold glare and with bursts of pain rocketing around his body, Louis can’t think beyond the immediacy of his doubt. Hasn’t it always felt like Harry was holding something back from him? Didn’t Harry hesitate when Louis asked him to stay last night?

 

Harry pities him, no question but compassion isn’t the same thing as respect. It surprises him to realise how much he wants that, that of all the things Duncan could have said, this one hurts the most. It kills him to think that Harry might look at him and see a waste of space...a used up, twisted weakling that he might feel sorry for but never truly care for.

 

Louis’ breaths get shallower and shallower as panic sets in and he wonders what he really has left. Duncan is going to leave him and Harry...Harry doesn’t think much of him at all. How could he? Louis is lying curled over himself on the floor, getting beaten by the man he loves. He couldn’t be more of a piss-weak excuse for a human if he tried.

 

“I don’t want Harry,” Louis tries to explain, his voice rasping around Harry’s name, his heart clenching in his chest as he wonders how much it will hurt when Harry inevitably turns his back on him, “I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

 

Duncan clenches his teeth and then drops to the floor, lightning fast. Louis’ breath stops when Duncan leans over him, gripping his neck and drawing blood with the deep imprints of his fingernails. He forces Louis’ head around so that Louis’ looking straight back at him and then lowers his face to Louis’, mashing his lips down against his mouth.  

 

Louis’ tears cascade down his cheeks and melt down over Duncan’s lips as his mouth moves roughly against Louis’. Louis gently kisses back, a naïve and previously dormant sense of hope taking shape in his chest. It’s the hope that Duncan will just leave him be and that he will eventually realise how much Louis wants a future with him. Louis doesn’t know if he deserves forgiveness but he longs for it anyway, begging silently for release as his limbs tremble and a throbbing headache presses at his temples.

 

“Shut your lying mouth,” Duncan whispers in his ear, the malice ever present, “you’re so pathetic thinking that I’m going to buy your innocent virginal act. I _know_ how desperate you are for it Louis. Don’t forget that I’ve seen you in action.”

 

Louis turns over to face him and Duncan wraps his hands firmly around his neck. He squeezes so tight that Louis forgets everything but the twisted green of the eyes boring into his, a sick sense of glee lighting them up. When Louis starts to gasp, his vision turning splotchy, Duncan lets go. He laughs cruelly at the way Louis scrabbles to breathe and then knees him hard in the stomach. Louis can’t get any sobs out and his throat feels raw, his mind scarily detached. His body shudders continuously as hot tears accelerate down his cheeks, pooling in his collarbones while he waits for the next blow.

 

Duncan stands up but doesn’t say anything. His eyes trail down over Louis’ grief stricken face and his heaving chest pushing in and out with every stilted breath. Then he drags his gaze lower to where Louis’ arms are curled loosely around his aching stomach.

 

“You’re not going to fight back are you?” Duncan hisses, “Because you know you deserve everything I’m giving to you, don’t you? Do you think that makes it better?” He roars, “that it makes up for letting him fuck you? Because it doesn’t, it never will. I’m going to keep going,” Duncan says slowly, kicking Louis hard. His foot kicks out so hard that Louis’ arms fall away and the blow lands right beneath his belly button,”I’m going to hurt you like you hurt me. I want you to remember why nobody will ever take pity on you like I do. I want you to see the evidence of shame on your skin for weeks.”

 

Louis tucks his head into his chin and closes his eyes. He wonders in one corner of his mind what Harry’s doing and why he hasn’t come to see what’s going on but then Louis realises that it’s probably not something Harry wants to involve himself in. Why would Harry want to get mixed up in Louis’ stupid mistake? It’s not his fault that Louis couldn’t control himself and knocked on his door like a sad little puppy begging for shelter. That’s all Louis is to Harry and that’s why he must have felt compelled to say yes. In that moment, Louis was just another patient who needed his gentle care. This, this isn’t like the other times. This is Louis in his weakest hour, broken and beaten and by no means the kind of person that someone like Harry would want to go the extra mile for. Why would Harry risk a brawl with Duncan for him? Even sweet, gorgeous Harry must sense Louis’ worthlessness.

 

Those words Harry said last night flutter away like pieces of ash being carried on the breeze. Louis can feel their impermanence, can smell the column of smoke rising up from their fiery demise. He should have known he didn’t deserve the things Harry said about him. He should have known that Harry had been misguided or confused when he said those things, momentarily forgetting just how twisted Louis really is.

 

Duncan’s foot slams into him over and over until Louis starts to feel like there’s a sinkhole forming in the shape of Duncan’s shoe. A burgeoning and persistent ache spreads through to his sides, making him whimper and forget his deep breathing. When Duncan pulls his foot away, Louis doesn’t feel any relief. Somehow he senses Duncan isn’t done with him yet. He’s right. Duncan just changes location, kicking him hard in the chest where there’s no softness and no thick flesh to protect him from the weight of the blows. The worst shock comes when Duncan’s foot slams against Louis’ bowed head, pushing his chin into his neck and forcing his neck down at an unnatural angle. Pain explodes behind his eyes as his body spasms sporadically.

 

At some point, Louis stops letting himself feel each individual spike of pain. Maybe his body doesn’t want him to feel, that if he could feel every blow that Duncan reins down upon his body he wouldn’t have the will to breathe. It’s difficult as it is. It feels like there’s a metal weight pushing down against his chest and constricting his lungs as they fight for breath.

 

Louis can’t feel the tears form and he doesn’t feel the moment that each one slips out of the corners of his closed eyelids. Still, he imagines he can hear them dripping off his face and it’s all he concentrates on as his thoughts get less and less clear, a strange fuzzy sensation stealing over his mind as any last trace of pain starts to give way to numbness. _Drip, drip, drip._ Tears drop down onto his collarbones like rain drops on a tarp while Duncan’s presence fades into the murky background.

 

.....

 

Harry feels strangely euphoric when he turns away from the door, Louis having just left but not without having promised Harry that he’d think about what they talked about. Sure, it hadn’t felt as genuine as their conversation from last night. Harry is certain that it’s going to take more than one confession of slight doubt for Louis to realistically contemplate packing his bags. Yet Harry is safe in the knowledge that he planted a seedling in Louis’ mind.

 

He didn’t manipulate or coerce Louis like dark Harry wanted but instead coaxed out the truth from within. It just happened to be that there was a small bud of doubt already forming in Louis’ mind without any intervention from him. Harry conjured an illustration of Louis’ self-image and he’d been quick to point out the distortions. He nurtured Louis’ remaining sense of self, trying to give him the power to see himself clearly and made a go at showing him the wealth of his heart. He wanted Louis to know that the relationship he desires isn’t the pipe dream he believes it to be. He deserves to have somebody who will love him with equal measure.

 

Harry slides his phone out of his jeans now and quickly types a song into YouTube. He plugs his headphones in and then turns the volume up all the way, smiling to himself as he sets about cleaning the flat. He sings along to Tony Bennett, hearing the phantom sound of Louis’ voice alongside his own, continually pressing replay each time the song draws to a close. This is the lightest he’s felt all week and there’s no denying that it’s all down to Louis. Harry smiles as he wonders what Louis’ doing right now. He’d like to think that Duncan’s yet to return and Louis’ just doing whatever his heart desires, like walking around in bare feet and watching friends re-runs. Louis deserves a pleasant Saturday morning to himself.

 

......

 

Louis can’t tell what’s real from what he imagines anymore. His mind is aimless and unhinged, transitioning from an image of Duncan standing over him surveying his work, to one of Harry’s face looking down at him from above. There’s a chilling kind of distaste in Harry’s expression and he hisses at Louis, “ _you disgust me,_ ” with a kind of venom that doesn’t match the usual softness of his face. Then Duncan and Harry merge into one and Louis’ silent sobs tear through him as Harry looks down at him with pure hatred. His boot hovers over Louis’ chest, poised to deliver another crushing blow.

 

“No, no please,” Louis whimpers, a frenzied note to his tone as Harry winds up again, “please don’t hurt me. You were so kind, so lovely. You held me... _please_.”

 

Harry’s foot doesn’t land on his body again but instead he grabs a fistful of Louis’ hair and serves a hard punch to his eye, knocking him flat onto his back. The punch sends sharp fissures of pain through Louis’ system that shock him back into awareness. His eyes scrunch tightly and then open a fraction to find Duncan, not Harry, standing over him.

 

“I’ll be in the New York office,” Duncan spits, arms crossed over his chest, “if I decide to come back, I want you on your knees the moment I walk through that door.”

 

Louis can’t hold his eyes open any longer. He feels dizzy and he’s aching all over. His eyelids fall shut and he focuses on his breathing as he half listens to the sound of Duncan moving around him, packing some belongings before slamming the door shut on his way out.

 

Duncan left him. Duncan actually left him like this. There’s no resistance left in Louis. There’s no sassy, defiant voice screaming to be heard above the gloomy, self -loathing one that rules his everyday life. It feels as though the person that existed before Duncan died the moment Louis went crashing to the floor. Louis is all alone inside his mind and all he can hear is the dull thud of his heart in his ears and the same _drip, drip, drip_ of his tears.

 

If anybody had said five years ago, that he would be lying on his own floor, abandoned, broken and fresh out of any desire to exist, he would have laughed right in their face. He was strong and unreachable back then. He would have told anybody that called him worthless he was worth more than they could afford. Louis never could have foreseen himself winding up here, bruised and beaten by the man he dreamed he’d spend the rest of his life with.

 

Louis thought he was too strong for that, too unyielding. He thought that while things like this must happen to good people, they only happened to people who were mentally deficient. Surely anyone who wouldn’t fight back, anyone who would stay in this situation, they couldn’t have their wits about them. Louis knew that women often insisted they deserved it, doling out paper thin excuses like “he didn’t mean it” or “he’s not a violent man.” They had to be deluded or at the very least, intellectually inferior. Louis believed that deep down, he was different from them, superior somehow. Yet here he is curled around his own array of bruises, cradling his shattered dreams and lying in a pool of his own gritty tears and he feels it. He knows now. He knows every inch of their suffering in a bone deep way that he hadn’t before. Worse still, he knows now that he’s not superior and perhaps never was. He’s not even a true victim. He’s not the punching bag of some violent alcoholic or the woman who gets beats up on when her husband has a bad day. He’s only suffering the consequences of his own poor decision making.

 

Louis never thought Duncan could be so brutal and so cold as to leave him bruised and boneless on the floor but then Duncan must have thought that Louis would never go so far as to sleep with the guy next door. He’s shocked this response out of Duncan and there can be no self-pity and no freedom from the awful, visceral pressure on his brain that tells him it’s been a long time coming and that Duncan held off as long as he could. Louis’ last breath before he blacks out is a shuddered gasp. His limbs spasm and everything goes black, the last of his tears dripping down his chin like a solemn promise. _Drip drip drip._

 

.....

 

When Harry takes his headphones out, he hears the loud slam of the door in the hall and then the sound of a suitcase being rolled down the stairs. His forehead wrinkles with confusion. Where on earth would Louis be travelling to on a Saturday morning, seemingly out of nowhere? Then it dawns on him that it must have been Duncan and that Duncan must have come back and left all over again. Except it can’t have been more than twenty minutes to half an hour that he was there.

 

It occurs to Harry that Louis is probably an emotional mess, having just been abandoned by his boyfriend for the second time in two days with barely a pause in between. He wonders momentarily whether this will be the water that breaks the camel’s back. Perhaps it will be just another excuse for Louis to devalue himself and cling on a little tighter, thinking nobody else could possibly accept him. It’s a question that Harry intends on investigating later, after he’s checked that Louis is okay.

 

Harry: _I think I heard Duncan leave.... are you okay? .xx_

Harry goes about placing his empty mug in the dishwasher and wiping down the bench that he’d used to make a couple of slices of toast in between sorting his laundry. When he returns to his phone, there’s no reply and he frowns, both confused and disappointed. There’s every chance that Louis’ simply in the shower or ignoring him because he’s once again sticking his nose in where it’s probably not wanted but something tells Harry that it’s not that. After all, they’d had such a breakthrough last night. Surely Louis wouldn’t automatically shut him out for expressing some mild concern? Or would he? Harry’s frown deepens as he shoots off another text.

 

Harry: _I’m sorry if you took that the wrong way. Didn’t mean anything by it. We don’t have to talk about it Lou .xx_

Harry starts to tap his foot impatiently while he stands there waiting for some kind of reply. Then he pricks his ears, listening for any kind of noise from next door. He listens for the squeal of the pipes that might indicate a shower or any other kind of sound that might tell him what Louis’ doing. There’s nothing. The back of Harry’s neck prickles uncomfortably and a strange shiver runs down his spine. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him and why he suddenly feels so jumpy but he finds himself sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it furiously as he dials Louis’ number.

 

It rings and rings and rings and then goes to voicemail, all while Harry stands there, head pounding furiously as a million different scenarios crop up in his mind. What if Louis fell or had an accident? What if Louis hurt himself on purpose? What if Louis decided that he never wants to hear from Harry again? What if, what if, what if. Harry’s heart is jumping erratically in his chest and he can’t take one more second of this. He bursts from his flat with wild eyes and stumbles his way to Louis’ door.

 

He pounds on it with his fingers curled in a tight fist and then swears softly when there’s no answer from within. He knocks again but there’s nothing, not even the sound of Louis moving away from the door. Harry’s completely on edge and he can’t explain the sick feeling in his gut that tells him something’s off. He can’t even begin to fathom what possesses him to draw back from the door and kick it open so hard that it rebounds off the wall, reverberating through the eerie silence of the flat and making Harry himself jump. Nor can he fathom the grim and horrific sight that he’s met with as he takes a single step into the flat and his eyes come to rest on the body lying crumpled in the middle of the floor.

 

Louis’ body looks broken and limp and as Harry staggers towards him, the world narrows to a single point. His shaking fingers come up to flutter over his mouth with shock like he’s some kind of grieving widow in a low budget movie. The world is dreamlike and warped and Harry’s movements are coordinated by some kind of automatic switch in his brain. It always seems so hackneyed and platitudinous in movies, the way people drop to their knees, but Harry’s body moves of it’s own accord. He sinks to his knees beside Louis, completely overcome by emotion.

 

Harry cries out as he finds one of Louis’ eyes swollen shut with a bulging bruise, the other unmarked but similarly clenched as if Louis had been in considerable pain when it fell closed. His arm is curled loosely around his stomach, the same red jumper that he’d worn last night riding up around his waist.  This time instead of delicious, unblemished flesh, Harry is greeted with the sight of grotesque blackish-blue bruises that span the width of Louis’ stomach and bulge out in certain places. Harry pushes the jumper up, revealing more of the same. A wolfish, broken howl escapes his mouth when he realises that Louis’ tiny, pink nipples are virtually the only parts of Louis’ torso untouched by the horrific dark tones of his bruises.

 

This is Louis, tiny Louis with the bear cub hands and miniature chest. This is Louis whose miniature hand had curled around Harry’s last night as an intoxicating kind of need filled his cerulean blue eyes. This is Louis who called Harry gorgeous and pressed an innocent giggle against his skin, heating him from within. This is Louis, the guy Harry’s quickly and irrationally been falling for these past five weeks. This is Louis, who lay crumpled and unconscious on the floor of his own flat while Harry danced his morning away, completely oblivious to what was going on just next-door.

 

“Louis,” Harry rasps desperately, blinking a huge wave of tears from his eyes as he gathers Louis’ limp body in his arms. He maneuvers him around so that Louis’ head rests in his lap, “Louis, wake up.”

 

Louis doesn’t move and Harry’s whole body shudders with fear. He doesn’t have the right to cry. If he’d just taken his blasted earphones out for one minute, if he’d only convinced Louis to stay a little longer, if he’d just held Louis in his arms and never released him….if he’d done any of these things, this wouldn’t have happened. That wretched animal wouldn’t have touched one god damn hair on Louis’ fine head. If Harry had just been there. _God,_ if he’d only been there when Louis needed him.

 

Harry’s hands tremble with rage as he pushes Louis’ sweaty fringe from his forehead. He’s never been this violent, has never seen a need for it but this is _Louis_. This is Louis and if Harry had been here, then there’s every chance that Duncan would be the one lying crumpled on the floor. There’s every chance he’d never get back up again after Harry was done with him.

 

“Lou,” Harry whimpers, frantically stroking Louis’ face as his own tears drip down onto Louis’ closed eyelids, “Louis, sweetheart, please open your eyes. _Please_ baby, it’s Harry. Why did the baboon ask the giraffe, “why the long face?”” Harry’s met with silence as he continues to cry, his thumb brushing his own tears from Louis’ cold cheeks, “c’mon Lou, don’t let me embarrass myself. Why did the baboon ask the giraffe “why the long face?”?”

 

There’s still nothing. Harry cups the back of Louis head as he leans down to rest his ear next to Louis’ mouth. He feels the weak puff of air on his ear and sighs, relieved. Then he wizens up to the way the back of Louis’ head feels beneath his fingers, swollen and lumpy, as if someone molded his skull into a new shape. The monster that laid his hands on Louis has effectively kicked his head in and Harry realises that it’s most probably the reason Louis’ unconscious and not responding. He could simply have a concussion but it could be much worse...a bleed in his brain or something equally life threatening. Fear seizes Harry’s throat and clamps down on his heart when he contemplates the mere thought of losing the delicate boy lying in his arms.

 

“I’m going to get you to the hospital Lou,” he promises, “they’re going to help you darling.”

 

With shaking fingers, Harry dials an ambulance, stumbling over his words in his rush to get the address out and swearing violently at himself for taking so long. The ambulance is relatively quick to get there but it feels like an eternity that Harry holds Louis in his arms, whispering the worst jokes he can think of and waiting for Louis’ eyes to open so he can tell Harry how truly absurd he is. When they arrive, Harry is already standing up with Louis in his arms and he quickly delivers him to the paramedics who place him on a stretcher and rush him downstairs, Harry following close behind. Two paramedics load Louis into the ambulance and Harry moves to get on behind them but a silver haired man with wide rimmed glasses and a severe mouth stops him with a hand to the chest.

 

“What the fuck?” Harry exclaims.

 

The swearing and the abrupt response are completely out of character for him but the last twenty minutes have flown by like a twisted nightmare and Harry’s not coping.

 

He needs to be by Louis’ side _now_ and he needs Louis to be okay. Nobody is going to get in between them, not today. Not when Louis’ lying unconscious in that ambulance, potentially dying and Harry could be with him, holding his limp hand and encouraging him just to hold on until they get to the hospital. _Nothing can come between you and I_ , Harry thinks, desperation colouring the thought as more tears ease down the sides of his face.

 

“Are you family or his significant other?” the man asked with raised eyebrows, ignoring the way Harry drags his shaking hands across his cheeks to wipe his tears.

 

Harry thinks of the violent coward who left Louis to die, the horrible human being who beat him to a pulp and yet would probably still have the audacity to call himself Louis’ lover. Harry thinks of how Louis cried out to him last night as he pulled his hand away and of how he fell asleep to the sensation of Harry’s fingers in his hair. He thinks of how Louis had woken up with Harry’s eyes on him and smiled like the Pope himself had blessed him. Harry thinks of Liam, Louis’ protector and Taylor, his partner in crime. He thinks of Louis’ mum who loves him more than words, Dan who depended on Louis in his hour of need and Louis’ siblings who looked at him like he was the truest source of sunshine in their lives. He thinks of all the special people in Louis’ life and wonders if he counts as one of them. Is he one of them? With a quick nod to himself, he decides that yes, he is. Whether Louis likes it or not, Harry is in for the long haul.

 

“Yes, I’m his significant other,” he says determinedly.

 

The man raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe him but Harry lets out another weighted breath and the guy eyes him for a moment before jumping up into the ambulance and beckoning for Harry to follow. He doesn’t hesitate. He’s by Louis’ side in an instant, ignoring the paramedics’ warning looks as he knits their fingers together and combs gently through Louis’ fringe.

 

“You’re going to be just fine Lou,” he promises, ignoring the pitying eyes on his back, “I promise you’ll be just fine.”

 

......

 

When Louis opens his eyes to an empty hospital room and a sluggish feeling in his head, confusion momentarily swamps him. Then the images come screaming back to him and he whimpers, remembering Duncan’s foot slamming into him over and over until everything shut down. He knows instantly that it would have been Harry who found him but he doesn’t know how to feel about that. He wants for it to mean that Harry cares about him but he knows deep down that Harry would do this for anybody. Harry is special.

 

“Oh love, you’re awake!” a squeaky voice calls as a buxom blonde nurse comes bustling in with a jug of water.

 

She places it on his bedside table and then clicks a button overhead. At this point, Louis realises that he’s got a drip attached to his arm and that there’s some kind of liquid dripping down into his bloodstream.

 

“What’s that?” He asks, slurring his words a little because his head feels so fuzzy.

 

“Oh just something for the pain,” the bright eyed blonde chirps.

 

“That why I feel so tired?”

 

The nurse smiles and pats his shoulder.

 

“That and the fact that you were under anesthetic. You’re a very lucky man Louis. You have two cerebral contusions but they’re not severe enough to require any corrective surgery. They’ll heal on their own. However, we would like to see the swelling go down a bit before we send you home.”

 

“Cerebral contusions?” Louis asks, wincing as he raises his head to look at her.

 

She pushes him back down with a gentle smile.

 

“Brain bruises,” she informs him and then squeezes his shoulder, her bright smile dimming, “whatever got you, got you good.”

 

Louis can hear the silent “whoever” in her somber tone and it makes his breath hitch a little. He doesn’t want to think about that _whoeve_ r right now, not when he’s lucky just to be alive. Thank god for Harry and his hero complex. Truth be told, Louis wasn’t sure he wanted to live. Right before he fell prey to the darkness, this strange sense of relief came over him. Perhaps because he was so exhausted, more exhausted than he’s ever felt in his life. Now, with the pain medication flowing through his system, allowing him a little more drug mediated awareness, he realises that he does want to live. He wants it even if it means fighting through the shit storm that is the current state of his life.

 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees with a tight-lipped smile, “what kind of idiot falls down the stairs of their own building?”

 

The nurse narrows her eyes.

 

“Your boyfriend said he found you in your flat.”

 

The image of Duncan’s hateful green eyes burns the backs of Louis’ eyelids and his whole body seizes up with fear. Duncan came back for him. Louis doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t want to go through any more similar ordeals ever again. He doesn’t have the strength and yet a small, childish voice inside him cries out, reminding him that Duncan came _back_ and that Duncan is the one who brought him here. Those two things combined mean that he must care. He must love Louis in order to want to save him. _He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it. It was all a big misunderstanding._ Louis doesn’t realise his thoughts exactly mirror those of the abused women he used to judge so easily.

 

“Well yeah...I got that far before I collapsed.”

 

The nurse eyes him carefully.

  
“He...tended to you, did he? Your boyfriend Harry?” She asks with suspicious blue eyes.

 

Louis’ heart breaks all over again, his eyes welling up but he denies himself the release of crying. He’s cried enough tears to last a lifetime. Of course Duncan didn’t come back for him. Why would he? What was there even left of Louis to save? Nothing. He’s nothing. Louis has Harry...but Harry rescued him because that’s who he is. It’s got nothing to do with Louis. Only...what had the nurse just called him? Louis’ boyfriend. Louis splutters out a jumbled response.

 

“Harry?” He asks with nervous panic, “Harry’s not my boyfriend. He’s my neighbour and friend...I think. He’s not. I mean, Harry’s just...Harry.”

 

The nurse cocks her head at him like a bird intent on studying its prey wriggling around in the dirt.

 

“He said he was your significant other?”

 

 _Oh_ , _he just wanted to ride in the ambulance with me._ Why does that make Louis feel choked up all over again? Why is he so grateful for Harry’s compassion and yet so disappointed at the same time?

 

“Um, yeah,” Louis says lamely, figuring he best go along with it, “I just hate the word boyfriend.”

 

The nurse shakes her head at him, looking a touch amused and then turns and starts to bustle her way back out of his room.

 

“Where are you going?” He asks her, strangely terrified to be on his own.

 

She smiles, thin lipped and raises her eyebrows.

 

“To retrieve your non-boyfriend. Last I checked he was pacing the halls and harassing reception trying to get them to give him an update. We only brought you back from theatre quite recently,” she explains.

 

“Oh,” Louis bites his lip, suddenly nervous about confronting Harry, “could you um...could you tell him that I might not be up to speaking?”

 

“Sure,” the nurse says with a kindly smile, “but I hardly think he’ll need much input from you other than to see you’re alright. When we took you to theatre, he just kept chanting, “He was so still.” Eventually he tired himself out but I’ve never seen someone pace the waiting room that many times in one hour.”

 

Louis’ heart clenches in his chest and tears smart in his eyes as last night’s events come flooding back. Harry held him while he fell asleep and pulled him close by the waist. Harry is too fucking spectacular for words and Louis is _nothing_ but...but what if Louis wasn’t completely deranged in thinking that Harry actually cares about him? Louis cries silently as the nurse’s footsteps fade away and his fingers come up to gently brush the bulge across his right eye. He can still see out of it but it stings and is pressed half shut.

 

When Harry appears in the doorway, Louis’ breath stops. He’s never looked as tragic or as lovely as he does standing there in form fitting jeans and a soft flannel, his hair in complete curly disarray. His pale face is a streaked and splotchy mess with patches of rosy pink covering his cheeks. He looks Louis over with the kind of wonder that Louis feels reflected in his own eyes. A whimper escapes his mouth at the same time that a soft sob escapes Harry’s and then Louis is stretching up in his bed, reaching out for him and Harry is crossing the floor just to push him straight back down again.

 

“Don’t you dare sit up you fool,” he orders with a crooked, off center smile.

 

Louis lets out a wet little laugh and then dissolves into tears again.

 

“Fuck,” he curses as the saltiness of his tears stings his bruised eye.

 

Harry understands, gently swiping his thumb along Louis’ bruised bottom lid and catching the tears before they can seep into his cracked skin. His other hand slips over Louis’ forehead to reach his fringe and he combs his fingers through it, drawing a hum from Louis’ throat.

 

“I’m so sorry Lou,” Harry sighs, shaking his head. His eyes are somber and tear filled. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

 

Louis can’t even comprehend that Harry cares this much about him, let alone that he actually thinks he has something to apologise for. If not for Harry, Louis would still be lying unconscious on his floor, helpless and alone. Maybe he deserved that, the fate that Duncan may or may not have intended for him but with Harry’s eyes tracing his face so tenderly, Louis can’t bring himself to want anything other than this. He can’t bring himself to wish for the darkness. He’s only glad Harry was there.

 

“But you were,” Louis says incredulously, his own tears slowing. He beckons to Harry to get him to lean in closer and then rubs his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks, ridding them of tears. “You got me to the hospital. You were--thank you Harry.”

 

“No Lou,” Harry shakes his head furiously as he picks Louis’ hands up and kneads lines into his palms, “I wasn’t there to stop him and I _should_ have been. I had music in and I couldn’t---“ Harry’s voice gives out and he lets out a shaky sob that tears at Louis’ heart, “I couldn’t hear you but I _should_ have. And it was me...it was my fault in the first place, wasn’t it? You told him where you stayed and he, _oh god_ ,” Harry takes a deep breath to compose himself but it comes out all shaky and unsteady, “he hurt you.”

 

Louis hesitates, not wanting Harry to blame himself when it’s so clearly Louis’ fault but not wanting to lie either. Somehow despite everything that’s happened as a consequence of this friendship, Louis finds himself not wanting to go backward. He can’t go back to barriers and lines in the sand. Harry just rescued him from god knows what fate and if all Louis can do to repay him is to be honest with him, then that’s what he will do. He’ll do whatever he must in order to show Harry that none of what he did today is meaningless.

 

“He caught me coming out of your flat,” Louis says with a sigh and it’s shocking how quickly the words come, fluent and uninterrupted, as if the beating happened to somebody else and not him.

 

Then again, Louis wonders if it’s just Harry and the calming effect of his presence. Harry squeezes his hands and Louis feels truly safe with him.

 

“He caught me and pushed me into the flat. He shoved me to the floor and he was saying things, things about you and me. He ah, he strangled me a bit at one point,” Harry’s eyes tear up and he squeezes Louis’ hands again “and then he just started kicking me. He hit me and kicked me until I just stopped feeling at all and then he left for New York. I passed out after that and woke up here.”

 

Harry’s bottom lip is shaking and his troubled green eyes loom large in his face. Louis reaches out and cups his cheeks, thumbs stroking over the soft patches of skin next to Harry’s ears. Harry looks mildly comforted by the touch on the surface but still deeply disturbed by what Louis’ said. Then his expression morphs into a nervous one and he bites down on his lip, gripping Louis’ hands tightly.

 

“Louis, I have to call the police.”

 

Louis’ whole system revolts against those words. Nothing could be worse than making a formal complaint and going through the whole ordeal of explaining how he got himself into this mess. That right there is the real clincher. It’s the fact that even if he doesn’t regret his night with Harry, Louis knows that it’s what spurned this whole violent outburst. If he’d just had the foresight to go to his mum’s instead of Harry’s, there would have been no misunderstanding.

 

He’s not contesting the fact that Duncan kicked the shit out of him and that it’s how he winded up here in hospital. He just knows how crazed Duncan must have been, with jealousy and rage. If he was jealous, he must love Louis and if he loves Louis, then maybe they can work on this.  They can go to some clichéd couples therapist and talk about their “issues.” Maybe Louis can finally restore Duncan’s faith in him. He’s not completely ignorant about what happened, he’s still dealing with the aftermath of it but he’s never seen this side of Duncan before, at least not to this extent. Should he really be expected to do away with his relationship after one awful incident?

 

“No,” Louis calmly but firmly as he takes his hands from Harry’s, “that’s not what I want. I just want to move on with my life,” he lies, “I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

 

Harry’s eyes darken and his eyebrows pull down low over his eyes.

 

“But Louis--“

 

“No,” Louis says, louder this time, “I’m so grateful Harry, so grateful that you were there but I can’t...” he lets his voice waver and directs his eyes down to his lap, “I can’t go through that...I don’t want to...see him...and to-to hear his voice, I--“

 

“Shh,” Harry soothes, brushing the stiff lines of Louis’ eyebrows with his thumbs. Louis looks up into his leaden green eyes that are filled with far more sincere concern than he has any right to receive. His guilt has him in a stranglehold. “You don’t _ever_ have to see him again Lou, I promise.”

 

Louis’ heart hurts too much. It’s cramping up in his chest and he needs some space to think and some time to organise how he’s going to fix his relationship with Duncan and still keep Harry in his life. He can’t imagine giving either them up now, _especially_ now.

 

“I’m tired,” Louis says truthfully, letting his eyes flutter closed, “mind if I sleep?”

 

“Course not darling,” Harry murmurs and then coughs awkwardly, “I mean--“

 

“Haz.”

 

Louis’ eyes creak open and he finds Harry settling into the chair beside him with a high blush spreading over his cheeks.

 

“Yes?”

 

Louis stretches his hand out and Harry obeys his silent request, connecting their fingers with a tremulous smile.

 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Louis tells him, eyes on their hands that are somehow the perfect fit for each other, “I’m just...thank you. Thank you so god damn much.”

 

“Don’t thank me,” Harry says, gently squeezing his fingers, “just promise me you won’t ever let me walk in on that again. I need you to, god Lou...you didn’t even fight back, did you?” Harry’s eyes are tearing up again, “tell me you know he was wrong. Tell me you don’t think you deserved this.”

 

Harry’s hand is shaking and he looks like he might shatter into a million pieces if Louis confirms his fears. He looks so young suddenly, like a curly haired cherub that would have stolen hearts even in infancy. Louis can see what he needs; someone older and wiser to tell him that everything is going to be okay, someone to reassure him that the world isn’t as dark and as twisted as he fears it might be. Louis has to be that person. He can’t be the reason Harry Styles loses his sparkle or the gorgeous green eyed wonder that makes him so luminescent.

 

“I don’t,” Louis says, working to make his tone steely as he forces the words out around the huge lump clogging up his throat, “I don’t think I deserve it. He hurt me...and now he’ll never get the chance to hurt me again.”

 

Harry lets out a tiny relieved breath. Louis closes his eyes and focuses on the drowsy feeling brought on by the pain medication and not the lie he just told Harry. He doesn’t want to sort through his thoughts right now. Not anymore. After the emotional torture of lying to Harry, he only wants to be unconscious again. He wants to exist in a world away from this one...a world where he’s not that guy who got beat up by his boyfriend and loved him anyway. He wants to dream up a world where the kind of happy endings that Harry believes in actually exist.

 

.....

 

“I’ll come check on you okay? And I’ll be right here, just on the other side of the wall. Just call me if you need anything, yell out even. If he so much as steps foot back in there, call out Louis. I wish you’d...” Harry sighs, disappointed, “I wish you’d just stay with me.”

 

“Harry, I’m fine. They didn’t even make me stay overnight.”

 

Harry releases Louis’ side once they reach his door but there’s a hundred and one frown lines between his eyes and they only deepen when Louis reaches up to fit his key into the lock and winces because his stomach muscles flex.

 

“Are you sure you’re--“

 

Louis doesn’t see any other solution, there’s no two ways about it. Harry responds to touch best. Louis clenches his teeth together and ignores the budding pain as he swivels in Harry’s direction and winds his arms around his middle, pulling their torsos together. Harry looks at him with surprise but then his eyes soften and his arms come around Louis, his cheek sliding against the top of his hair.

 

“I’m okay Harry...I’ll be okay. Stop feeling guilty, you silly hipster. It’s not your fault and I don’t--“ Louis’ body trembles as he realises the truth of the bold statement forming in his head. Harry squeezes him tight, “I don’t regret becoming your friend or staying with you last night.”

 

Does Louis wish he’d had the will power to ignore Harry’s retreat from the room? Yes. Does he wish he’d been more careful when he left? Definitely...but as the dust settles it’s slowly occurring to him that right now Harry and his big, soft hands are the only thing he can be sure of. Maybe he’ll get things back on track with Duncan and truthfully, he doesn’t know what his life will be if he doesn’t but Harry is right here, right now, worrying about him and yearning to tend to his wounds. Louis is for the first time certain that it’s more than pity that spurns the bond between them. Louis might be the wounded puppy but Harry’s deep gaze has to be more than sympathy.

 

There’s a seed of an expectation there because Harry wants him to be stronger than what he’s been through and somehow, for some reason, he whole-heartedly believes that Louis is. Louis swallows loudly as he realises that this is the reason Harry bought his act at the hospital, he overestimates the strength of Louis’ will.

 

A small part of Louis wants to do exactly what Harry expects so he can make him proud. He wants to do what Harry needs him to do just so he can be the reason for that breathtaking smile that would break across Harry’s face like sunshine on a cloudy day. A larger part of Louis knows that even if he did that, it wouldn’t be the act of courage Harry expects because what Harry expects is for Louis to do these things for himself. Harry expects him to change the course of his life because of the consequences he’ll face if he doesn’t. Louis knows that it’s not so easy. It’s not like his happiness is a forgotten treasure that he can unearth from the corner of his backyard, dust off and return to its former place in his chest. Louis’ elusive happiness exists beyond a force field that repels him every single time he tries to pass through.

 

Harry sounds choked up when he pulls back from Louis and plants a wet kiss right by his eyebrow.

 

“I’m glad. Me too. I’m sorry he-- if I could turn back time, you know I’d--but I’m not about to regret any of that either.”

 

Louis smiles weakly and then pushes the door of his flat open.

 

“I should...”

 

“Right,” Harry agrees with a nod but his smile is without sparkle, “you should go inside.”

 

Louis doesn’t have the energy to question it. He returns the smile with a subdued one of his own and then turns to his flat, taking a few light steps into the room before closing the door behind him with a gentle click. Louis flicks the switch next to the door and then cringes at the outpouring of light, wincing again as his two puffy eyelids press tightly against each other.

 

When he recovers from the sudden rush of light, he looks around at the empty flat for signs of his ordeal. It’s not what Louis would expect a site of abuse to look like. There’s no broken glass, no splatters of blood along the carpet and not even one piece of furniture needs rearranging. Nothing is out of place. Everything is as it was before Duncan’s rough hands forced him to the floor. For all intents and purposes, it’s as though Louis could have it wiped clean from his memory and never have known the difference upon returning. It feels like it must have been a twisted nightmare and Louis is just now awaking. Yet he has the ache in his bones and the pain medication in his pocket to remind him of the reality of it, whether he wants that or not.

 

He can’t get away from the reality of lying on the floor near dead and just wishing for some kind of uninterrupted peace. There might not be any blood or shattered glass to mark the spot but Louis can still see the outline of his body along the carpet; the place where he’d first gone down and looked up at Duncan with terror seizing his body. He can still hear the faint echo of his tears. _Drip, drip, drip._

 

Louis’ eyes fall shut as the images slam into him at warp speed, bouncing off each other and racing towards to the finish like bumper cars on the warpath. Each one is more brutal than the last and then suddenly there are no more images; only sensations. He lives again the way that his body had seized with each blow and remembers the way his head had felt as if it were cracking open and spilling its entire contents. He feels the sting of Duncan’s nails in his neck and the wet, rough pull of his lips on his mouth. When Louis opens his eyes, the whole flat is a wasteland and Louis is sinking deeper and deeper into the wreckage, flailing his arms as he tries to avoid being swallowed by the horror.

 

“Fuck no,” he sobs in violent despair, his shoulders heaving up and down as he presses his fists tight against his eyes, trying hopelessly to force back the onslaught of tears, “stop.”

 

He’s too weak, much too weak for this and suddenly he can’t stand to look at the couch where Duncan had fucked his face or the table where he’d slammed down the ruined roses. He can’t stand to travel into the kitchen and smell the ghost of Duncan’s cooking and then walk down the hall to the bedroom and hear his own desperate moans coming back to him. He can’t bear to hear his own pathetic desire echo in his ears. _I know how desperate you are for it Louis. Don’t forget that I’ve seen you in action._

Louis can’t stand one inch of this flat which suddenly feels a lot like a warzone in the aftermath of battle. The only difference between the two is that in this case he’s the only casualty. Every memory he’s made here in the last five weeks is tainted by violence, every moment, every fight they’ve had; a darken omen of what was to come. Suddenly Louis sees all of it in a new light, imagining each fight bringing them closer to this point, snowballing and gathering momentum, all while he obliviously went on with his life, none the wiser. He’d never noticed the avalanche headed straight for him until it was on top of him, crushing him to death.

 

It’s too much, the pain and the fear and the confusing pulse of anger in the back of his head that rocks through his body and makes his fingers tremble. He can’t be here, not when every inch of this space is a reminder of his own mistakes. Louis switches on autopilot as he ventures into his bedroom and quietly packs a bag, whimpering quietly when he bends over and the ache in his bones worsens. It’s evening outside and darkness has just started to creep across London, streetlights blinking on as the leafy shapes of clouds melt anonymously into the purplish-blue that surrounds. Louis focuses on the darkness outside to avoid confronting the darkness within, ignoring a vision of himself and Duncan stretched out on these very sheets. His feet carry him from his bedroom to the living room and then out the flat.

 

He looks up at Harry’s door and his heart is beating wildly in his chest because the moment feels momentous. If he just walks away now, he’s certain that he can win Duncan back. If they just talk about what happened and figure out where it all went so wrong, he’s sure that they can eventually get back some semblance of the relationship they once had. It’s not beyond reach and Louis is not beyond redemption...he can’t be.

 

Yet there’s a stronger force pulling him towards Harry and his tender hands, Harry and his soulful green eyes. There’s a beaten and bloodied heart in Louis’ chest straining instinctively for the one thing it knows will make him feel better. It’s Harry. It’s Harry with his embarrassingly juvenile sense of humor and his stupid attention whore of a kitten that Louis may or may not have grown quite fond of. It’s Harry and every single word he’s said to Louis in the last five weeks that played with his heartstrings and fucked him up so royally inside.

 

Louis knows that knocking on Harry’s door could be a death sentence. If Duncan comes home at the wrong time and finds him here, nothing that they have will be salvaged. It will all be lost to Louis’ poor choices and weak heart. That future terrifies him…a future where he’s forced to confront a life alone and a life without the person he wanted to share everything with. Somehow he’s more scared of turning away and going back to his flat. He’s more frightened of choosing anything _but_ Harry in his hour of need. So once again, Louis doesn’t focus on what could happen, instead reminding himself that he’s already been through hell and back and survived. Survived he had, because of Harry. He gently taps on Harry’s door with his heart jammed somewhere up in his throat and tears building in his eyes.

 

......

 

Once Harry shuts the door, he lets out a huge breath and then the tears begin to fall. They melt down his face and into his flannel shirt as he sits down on the couch and buries his head in his hands, sobbing for all his worth. Maybe the day’s events are finally catching up with him. Louis could have died, he could have died for somebody who doesn’t know the definition of love, let alone how to love someone as complex and captivating as him. It sends a shudder rippling through Harry’s body just to think of Louis lying on that floor getting the shit kicked out of him and not doing anything to save himself, just curling in on his body and waiting for it to be over.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, Louis standing up to Duncan but it’s more than that. Harry wants to shake Louis for not having enough self-interest to want to fight back, to want to do anything to save himself. He knows that submitting wasn’t about what would be safer or whether fighting back would be ineffective. It was about Louis not knowing what he’s worth and trusting someone else to tell him. Someone who’s blatantly wrong. Louis said in the hospital that he knew he didn’t deserve it but Harry’s not ready to accept that so easily. He’s not going to let Louis down ever again and if that means keeping a closer eye on him and being skeptical of his so called truths, Harry is determined to do exactly that. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to save him.

 

Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he swings it up to his ear with a shaky hand.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, it’s Zayn.”

 

“Oh, h-hey,” Harry says with in a throaty voice, his airways clogged up with sadness, “what’s up?”

 

“Forget it. What’s up with you Harry? You sound like somebody died.”

 

Harry’s whole face clenches with pain and he bursts into tears again.

 

“Harry? Christ, Haz...do you want me to come round? We can watch love actually and eat disgusting organic food. Is it Louis? What happened?”

 

Harry just cries into the receiver, his sobs quickly fading to quiet whimpers as he hears Zayn whispering something to someone in the background.

 

“Li wants to know what’s going on.”

 

Of course he’s with Zayn. Of course Zayn and Liam can be happy together and it can be simple and straightforward. No violent, sadistic boyfriends to compete with or crippling self-doubt. Maybe Liam had struggled for the first five minutes but Zayn had somehow smoothed over all the rough edges and convinced Liam to loosen up, even without words. Harry wishes he had that kind of magnetism.

“Don’t...don’t come over,” he finally manages to say, “I don’t know if I can tell you, Liam especially but he’s...” Harry breathes out slowly, “he’s not good Z. He could have died and I couldn’t do a thing but watch. I thought I was going to lose him. How can I care about him this much? It felt like I was the one on the gurney Z...like my heart was pumping alongside his, just waiting for his to beat so mine could too.”

 

 

“Oh Harry,” Zayn sighs and then, “is he okay...Lou? How bad is he?”

 

“He’s just...like I said, not good.”

 

“Okay if Liam speaks to you for a mo, Haz?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, still half unsure whether he should have said anything.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Hey Liam,” he says slowly, trying for normality, “how are you?”

 

“I’m worried as fuck,” Liam cusses and Harry thinks he hears Zayn telling him to calm down in the background, “what the hell is going on? Louis almost died?” his voice breaks a little, “that motherfucker, that fucking scum of the earth hurt him, didn’t he?”

 

“Liam--“  


“I’m going to hunt him down and remove his kidneys and his cock too while I’m at it. Where is he? Is he in New York? Bet he fucked off to New York, didn’t he?”

 

Despite the bulk, Harry hadn’t initially thought of Liam as the violent type. Then again Harry was never the violent type either until he met Louis. It’s just something about him. Harry always wants to protect him, to sweep Louis up into his arms and take him away to some place where the sun never stops shining and the birds sing all day long. Somewhere where the sky is filled with eternal blue and there’s no misery or darkness. You can’t resist wanting to protect Louis from harm. It’s more than his small stature or the dreamy blue eyes, it’s that Louis would never raise his fists to defend himself. It’s something that needs to change and quickly.

 

Harry knows, after some deep thought, that even if Duncan deserves to have his lights punched out and more, it won’t reverse what happened. It won’t change what Louis went through which is the worst part of this whole ordeal. Then there’s the fact that Louis wouldn’t _want_ anybody to go after Duncan, not even if he accepts that Duncan was the one to blame. He’s just not that kind of person and Harry knows... he doesn’t want to believe it but he knows, there’s some part of Louis that’s still in love with his abuser. Hurting Duncan right now will only hurt Louis and Harry isn’t going to let anybody do that, least of all Louis’ best friend. It would destroy him.

 

“No,” he lies, “he’s not in New York. He’s at...a different office,” Harry improvises, hoping what he’s saying is compatible with the realities of Duncan’s job, “but Louis doesn’t know which.”

 

Liam growls at the same time as a knock sounds at Harry’s door.

 

“Liam I’ve got to go,” Harry says hurriedly, “I think Louis’ at my door.”

 

“Wait, Harry!”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is he--is he coping? Are you helping him?” Liam asks, his tone laced with equal amounts of worry and love.

 

Harry’s heart breaks for him a little, knowing just how hard it must be to feel so disconnected from Louis and not be able to do a thing to help him unless he’s granted permission. Harry can’t help but feel relieved that he’s already in on the situation and that it gives him a more certain assurance that Louis will continue to allow him access to his life.

 

“He’s doing okay,” Harry says cautiously, “and I’m doing what I can but I’ve got to go.”

 

Harry throws his phone down onto the coffee table and makes it to the door in two large strides. He opens it up to an image of Louis that’s similar to the day before, the same bag slung over his shoulder as tear tracks mar his face. Only this time, it’s much more terrifying because Harry knows the root of the problem and he’d thought stupidly enough that Louis was perhaps coping. How could he be coping? His whole world came crashing down just this morning.

 

“C’mere,” Harry says without hesitation and Louis literally falls into his arms, stumbling over his feet in his hurry to get there.

 

Harry catches him as Louis whimpers and attaches himself to Harry like a baby octopus, winding his calves around the backs of Harry’s legs and slinging his arms around his neck like he just wants to be carried. The bag slips off his arm and falls to the floor with a quiet thump. Harry pays no mind. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and uses his grip on the smaller boy to hoist him up and into his arms. They fall to the couch and Harry leans back against the headrest, a weeping Louis lying across his chest, hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder as sobs wrack his body. Harry rubs his palms across Louis’ back to comfort him. Louis’ knees slip either side of his thighs so Harry sits back a little so Louis can rest more comfortably in his lap.

 

“Louis,” Harry says, after a few minutes of high keening. It’s punctuated by reckless, chesty sobs that tear at Harry’s insides and make his own eyes sting with unshed tears, “Lou, please talk to me.”

 

Louis whimpers again and grips the side of Harry’s shirt with his fingers, squeezing it tight. Then he pulls back and looks up at Harry with blatant faith in his beautiful blue eyes, as though Harry will pull the answer from a magic hat and obliterate all the nightmarish pain in his path. It’s too much pressure and too much trust but the fact that Louis gives it so quickly makes Harry’s whole heart expand within his chest. He can’t breathe for how hard and how quickly he’s falling.

 

“Lou, darling,” Harry says gently, reaching up to brush away the tears that still stream down Louis’ cheeks, “I just want to know why you’re here. Did you just want some company love? That’s okay if you did. I’m happy to spend time with you.”

 

“I couldn’t be in there,” Louis gasps and it’s as if he’d been holding his breath all this time and then forgot that he was supposed to breathe at all.

 

His eyes are wild and crazed as he rakes his fingers through his hair and then settles his hands on Harry’s shoulders, steadying himself as he blinks back the rest of his tears.

 

“I just felt suffocated,” he confesses in a whisper, “suffocated by the memories and everything that happened in the last month that lead to the...incident this morning. It was like the walls were closing in and suddenly all the signposts that I missed were there in plain view. It happened out of the blue, that’s how I felt when he pushed me,” Louis admits and Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs in time with Louis’, “but it wasn’t. It wasn’t a random act...it was always going to happen.”

 

Harry can hear the self-loathing in his voice. Louis thinks he’s naïve. He still thinks that he brought it on himself and that everything that happened, happened because he didn’t change something...because he didn’t change himself. It’s clear that Louis thinks he should have seen this coming and altered his behavior to prevent it. Harry is so frustrated that he could cry all over again.

 

“Can I stay?” Louis asks in a tiny voice, like for some god unknown reason he expects Harry to say no.

 

Harry stands up, holding Louis’ thighs to keep him attached to his waist.

 

“Harry?”

 

Harry gently lays him down on the couch and then sinks to his knees beside him, cupping his cheeks with his hands.

 

“You can stay,” he says, watching Louis’ face crease up with confusion, “but I want you to rest Lou. I know you’re still in pain and I want you to stay right here, _please_.”

 

“Okay,” Louis agrees and it’s quicker than Harry had expected.

 

He sighs, relieved and traces the tops of Louis’ cheekbones with his thumbs.

 

“I’m just going to get you a blanket and a pillow so you can sleep for a bit.”

 

Louis nods and shuts his eyes, obviously exhausted. Harry had retracted his hands but now he finds himself reaching out again, completely helpless when it comes to Louis’ vulnerability. This time his thumb skates over Louis’ lip and he presses it to the corner of Louis’ mouth which parts with surprise, Louis’ facial muscles tensing up slightly.

 

“You’re so exhausted sweetheart, aren’t you?”

 

Louis nods and then sniffs, relaxing back into the couch. Harry smiles dazedly at Louis before retreating to the hall in order to retrieve some bedding supplies. When he returns, Louis is sitting up on the couch and looking around quizzically.

 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks.

 

Louis doesn’t respond and instead slides his legs down to the floor and starts to stand, his whole face scrunching up with pain. Harry is at his side in an instant, forcing him back down.

 

“Lou, please don’t get up. What is it love? What are you looking for?”

 

Louis sucks the majority of his mouth into one corner and then lets it go with a sigh.

 

“Where’s the cockroach? Why isn’t he harassing me?”

 

“Oh,” Harry’s dimples are out in full force as Louis’ skin flushes rosy pink with embarrassment, “you want cuddles. I’ll just go get the cockroach, I mean--“ Louis giggles and Harry’s heart explodes into tiny paper confetti hearts because it’s the first time Louis’ looked genuinely carefree all day, “the kitten.”

 

Harry tucks Louis in and then fetches Hugh Grant from his own bed, bringing him to Louis who gathers him close and presses a kiss to his fur. Hugh Grant mewls louder than Harry’s ever heard him and tucks his head into Louis’ neck, rubbing up against Louis’ collar bones the way Harry’s often dreamt of doing. _Furry bastard_. Is Harry really jealous of his own cat? It seems so.

 

“You two are adorable,” Harry says honestly.

 

Louis’ skin flushes again and he swallows loud enough for Harry to hear. When he looks up, his eyes are watery all over again and Harry’s gaze is drawn to the purplish bulge of his eye that looks so very painful. He leans over Louis and touches his lips to the very corner. He feels Louis’ soft, wet eyelashes brush his cheek and when he pulls away, Louis tugs on his collar to pull him back.

 

“Haz,” he says, voice rough.

 

Harry sinks his fingers into Louis’ hair and gently rubs his fingers across the bulges on his head.

 

“Lou,” he echoes in an emotive whisper.

 

This time, Louis’ tears are slower, like the last beads of condensation dripping down a glass on a hot day. Somehow that only makes it worse, the way Louis resists his sadness to the fullest extent, biting his lip as he lets the internal sobs rock his chest but never escape his mouth. He begins to hiccup against his will, letting out quiet uneven breaths punctuated by longer, deeper ones that he uses to control himself. Harry can see the broken shards of cerulean blue glass in his eyes. He can see how much Louis has lost today and how it’s taking everything within him to hold onto any semblance of normality. He’s so strong, so good and brave and Harry just wants him to know. Harry just wants to--

 

_What are you doing?_

_I kissed it better. My mum used to do it. Every time she had to patch me up, she’d kiss the plaster._

Harry takes Louis’ face in his hands and leans down over his eye. He presses his pudgy lips against the top of Louis’ swollen eye and then continues, pausing to allow for protest before trailing a path of kisses down the side of Louis’ eyelid to the corner of his eye. When he draws back, Louis’ tears are frozen in place and he’s staring at Harry with awe, his body still heaving.

 

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

 

“Kissing it better,” Harry explains, tracing Louis’ small chin with his little finger, “like your mum used to do.”

 

Louis’ eyes grow cloudy as new tears form and he shuts his eyes as they slip down over his cheeks. He looks entirely too mesmerizing, even in sadness, dark, ink black eyelashes fanning out over his smooth olive skin and his small, pointed lips pursing around stilted breaths.

 

“Harry,” he whimpers plaintively, sounding much like a puppy left out in the rain, “Harry, why are you so good to me?”

 

Harry shakes his head with anger and disbelief and then deposits Hugh Grant on the ground before peeling the coverlet back from Louis’ body. Louis’ eyes fly open and he rises up to look at Harry.

 

“W-what are you doing?”

 

Harry presses him back down with a single hand. He holds Louis’ gaze as he pushes his jumper up until it’s scrunched beneath his armpits. Louis looks down at his purplish-blue skin with a wobbly chin, his bottom lip trembling as his breathing loses all rhythm. He obviously hadn’t seen himself properly until now and Harry hates to do this to him...to see him so distraught. He hates to have look at it himself, to see the marks of Duncan’s rage on Louis’ skin and know that there’s nothing he can do to take them away. If he can’t erase them, his only option is to cover them with something sweeter. Perhaps when Louis looks down at his bruises, when they slowly begin to fade, he might remember this moment instead of the more violent ones that came before it. He might remember this moment and feel something other than pain clawing at his chest.

 

“I’m good to you Lou,” Harry says with conviction, “because you deserve good,” he lowers his lips to Louis’ chest and presses a gentle, closed mouth kiss between Louis’ pecs, “because you are good,” he sighs, listening to Louis’ breath hitch as he opens his mouth around a spot just south of Louis’ nipple, “and because you’re brave.” Harry takes his time, opening and closing his mouth over the bruised and beaten skin as he kisses his way down Louis’ stomach, “and _so_ beautiful.” Louis’ hands find their way into his curls, which makes Harry hum against his torso. He lingers in one spot, just above Louis’ belly button, opening and closing his lips over it as if he were trying to snog Louis’ stomach silly. “I want to marvel at that with you.”

 

Harry gently holds onto Louis’ slightly plump but shapely hips as instinct takes over and he swirls his tongue around Louis’ belly button, figuring it’s a good indication of Louis’ response when silence reigns above, Louis’ body no longer wracked by sobs. Harry splays his fingers over Louis’ ribcage and presses one last kiss to the skin around the waistline of Louis’ pants. He feels Louis’ stomach contract away from his hands, his obvious tension denoted by a quiet gasp.

 

“Relax,” Harry soothes, moving his hands up Louis’ sides to his chest, his thumbs sliding across Louis’ nipples which pebble beneath his touch, “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

 

Harry’s head is throbbing with how focused he is on not getting hard and not taking this further than he intended. However Louis is really testing his will power, shuddering beneath him and bucking his hips up ever so gently. Harry might not have noticed it if not for the fact that Louis’ hips brush along his flank as they move.

 

Harry looks up at Louis’ face and finds his eyes still closed but tensed now, his eyelids wrinkled and his bruised eye painfully clenched. Louis’ biting the center of his mouth, and looking too damn provocative for someone Harry absolutely can’t have. He looks far too tempting for a guy that’s been violently abused and should, by all rights, look like a complete mess. Harry hates himself for feeling such passion even in the midst of Louis’ misery. Louis’ hesitant arousal isn’t deserving of the same ire because Louis deserves to feel anything that isn’t hurt or fear. Louis’ arousal is systematic and reflexive. The tightly coiled ball of lust inside Harry is linked with feelings and emotions that run much deeper. He can’t allow himself to feel these things. Not today. Today is about Louis and Louis only.

 

“I’ve got you,” Harry repeats, holding Louis’ hips as he leans down and blows a loud raspberry onto Louis’ stomach, just below his belly button.

 

Louis gasps and his eyes fly wide open, or as wide as they can when one of them is almost swollen shut.

 

“Bastard,” he breathes.

 

Harry’s laugh rings out across the flat. He grips Louis’ hips, wiggling his head from side to side as he blows another one, this one much more loud and obscene. Louis’ lips have cracked a smile and Harry’s on his way to success. He blows another loud raspberry over the side of Louis’ waist and Louis lets out a squeak that melts into a high pitched giggle.

 

“Found it, didn’t I? Your ticklish spot,” Harry says with mirth.

 

Louis shakes his head but he’s still squirming under Harry’s fingers, Harry’s favourite close-lipped smile painted over his lips. His blue eyes meet Harry’s in a playful tangle and Harry buries his fingers in his side, Louis’ giggles climbing higher as he folds his body in half to escape Harry’s probing fingers. Louis cringes and then whimpers when his muscles tense, Harry shaking his head as he pushes Louis back down.

 

Louis gazes up at him with fondness, amazement and a question in his gaze that Harry’s almost certain he won’t voice. So instead of answering whatever it is that’s bothering him, Harry pulls his jumper back down and tucks him again, retrieving Hugh Grant from beneath the table so Louis can hold him close.

 

“You sleep now Lou,” Harry says peaceably, “I’ll wake you for dinner, okay love?”

 

Louis nods and smiles at Harry, his fingers buried deep in Hugh Grant’s grey fur. By the time Harry returns from his trip to the bathroom, Louis and Hugh are both fast asleep, their heads resting against each other with Hugh’s soft ear folded gently up against Louis’ bruised eye. Harry’s heart feels devastatingly swollen in his chest.

 

The first thing Harry does once Louis’ asleep is go through his stuff. He’d like to think of it more as compassionate scavenging.

 

“Yes,” he cries out, pleased when his hand closes over Louis’ phone.

 

He claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes blown wide as he remembers the vulnerable man asleep on his couch.

 

He sits on the couch by Louis and clicks the button to light up the screen, cursing when he finds that Louis has a passcode. He turns the phone over in his hands, chewing on his tongue as he tries to think of another way in. As he does, a small slip of paper falls out from beneath Louis’ phone cover and flutters to the floor. Harry picks it up and finds that it’s a list of different codes. At the bottom is what Harry presumes to be the most recent one. 2021. Harry types it into the phone and it unlocks instantly.

 

Harry smiles to himself, his eyes trailing across the room to Louis who sleeps, hand curled around his neck with lips that are pouted and perfect every single time they push another soft breath out. Then his wits return and he freezes, glancing between Louis and the phone with shock. _2021._ His and Louis’ flat numbers combined. _Did Louis do that on purpose? He couldn’t have...could he?_ Harry feels awfully choked up and he goes to sit by Louis again, running his hand over Louis’ hair as he murmurs softly to him.

 

“I know I shouldn’t worry about this now. It’s the least of my concerns; truly it is... but do you care about me Lou? Because this,” Harry shakes Louis’ phone, “this tells me you do, perhaps even more than I had hoped but it’s so hard to tell. It’s so hard to know what the right thing to do is. I just...you’re all I want,” Harry clears his throat to rid it of its tightness as he gingerly lifts a strand of Louis’ hair that was covering his eyes, “so much, it’s hurting. I want you to be happy and I wish I could be the one to help you find that again.”

 

Harry then busies himself with Louis’ phone, scrolling through the contacts until he gets to the right one. The phone only rings twice before it’s picked up.

 

“Louis! Boo, you haven’t answered any of my calls or texts! Are you okay?” Jay demands, traces of deep anxiety fluttering around the edges of her firm tone.

 

“Hi Jay,” Harry says, slightly rough voiced. “It’s Harry. I met you the other--“

 

“I know who you are love,” Jay interrupts, more fear lacing her tone, “what’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby?”

 

Harry takes a deep breath and then looks over to Louis to check he’s still sleeping before dropping his voice to a whisper. He keeps a hand on Louis the whole time as he talks to Jay, stroking his hair or tracing his cheek, even squeezing his thigh when Louis randomly kicks out in his sleep. He feels compelled to touch and memorise, to marvel at the brilliance of Louis’ existence when just this morning he thought he would lose all of this for good. Louis is so soft, so warm and he might be beaten and bruised but he’s _here_ , he’s alive and Harry will never let him wind up in that position ever again. _Never_. 

 

When Harry finishes explaining, there’s a long pause and then Harry hears the sounds of Jay sniffling quietly.

 

“Lottie, get me a tissue will you?” She whispers and Harry kind of just wants to hug her and remind her that her beautiful son is stronger than he looks.

 

“Harry,” Jay says eventually, her voice wavering a little, “are you with him right now?”

 

“Yes,” Harry answers and he hears Jay’s sigh of relief, “it’s why I’m whispering. He’s asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”

 

“Why didn’t you just go into another room?” She asks, sounding innocently curious.

 

Harry blushes and just thanks his lucky stars that she can’t see his face right now.

 

“I didn’t...I couldn’t leave him,” he says, stammering over his words a little, “not right now.”

 

“Harry,” Jay says with a rush of breath and it sounds so much like Louis that it paints a fond smile over his lips, “Harry, you’re a beautiful boy. Your parents raised you beautifully. They’re so lucky.”

 

Tears cloud Harry’s vision as he wonders whether his parents would agree with that statement. “Lucky?” He can imagine his father saying, “that I’ve got a prissy, artsy faggot for a son?” Not that his father would ever willingly discuss his sexuality. Louis is so lucky to have Jay and vice versa. It fills Harry with deep longing and makes him wish he had the same kind of bond with his own parents but he’s so glad for Louis. Besides which, the reverent, wonderful note of gratitude he hears in Jay’s voice goes a long way towards comforting him. In this moment, he’s just what Louis told him he could be; an honorary Tomlinson.

 

“Thank you,” Harry manages to croak, “Thanks Jay. I promise I’ll look after him. I just wanted you to know and I don’t know whether he’d tell you on his own. I just think...a mother who loves her son the way you love Lou, well you don’t deserve to be kept in the dark. I know he wants to make his own choices and protect you from the truth but somebody has to show him that it’s okay to admit that things aren’t always as perfect as you’d like them to be. That being said, I just think.... maybe let him come to you. Let him think that it was his choice first. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

 

Jay doesn’t even fight him on it.

 

“Of course love. I trust you and I have faith in my baby. He’ll come to me in his own time. I just wish I could shake him,” Jay sighs, her tone wobbly, “because I love him so much and I can’t believe he’d let somebody hurt him like that. It’s the worst news I’ve ever received,” she says, her voice breaking slightly, “and if he’d let me, I’d drive down there right now and hold him in my arms like I used to when he was a baby. I’d get hold of a shot gun and I’d go shoot straight through Duncan’s foot like I always threatened to do to some of the scum bags that my boo brought home when he was younger. But I know that you’re right, that I have to wait and that he’ll come when he’s good and ready. He’ll come home when he realises that no matter what mistakes he makes, I’m always going to love him and want what’s best for him. I’m always going to be his mum and he’s always going to be my baby boy. My boo bear.”

 

Harry sighs with empathy.

 

“I think he just has a very different idea about what’s best for him.”

 

“I know Harry but he’ll change. He already is. He was different around you…good different and love, if this were a different country with a different set of rules, I’d have married you two off within minutes.”

 

Harry doesn’t try to deny the truth of her assumption. He just chuckles quietly, his thumb drifting down to ghost across the seam of Louis’ mouth.

 

“Jay,” Harry says seriously, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I just wanted you to know that I’ve never felt this way before...about anybody really. The way I feel about your son...it takes my breath away. He takes my breath away.”

 

There’s only a short pause and then Jay’s voice comes through, clear and strong.

 

“Mine too love,” she says, “mine too. He never fails to amaze me. He’s done so much for me and the girls and still I... I can’t make him see how wonderful he is. I’m so glad though, so glad he steals your breath because the best ones always do. I just hope he opens up to you love because he’s such a tough nut to crack sometimes and just when you think you’ve got him, he slips away again. Don’t let him slip away Harry.”

 

“I won’t,” Harry promises, a lump in his throat as he gazes at Louis’ sleeping form, “I couldn’t possibly.”

 

“Good.”

 

“There is one more thing Jay...”

 

“Anything for you, what is it?”

 

“What does Louis like to eat when he comes home?  Like, what do you make him as his favourite meal?”

 

Harry locates his keys and his wallet after getting off the phone with Jay and then pens a note to Louis in case he wakes up while he’s gone. He still doesn’t want to leave him, wishes he could just bundle Louis up in the doona and bring him along but he’s not insane and Louis needs his rest. Harry can be away from him for all of half an hour. Of course he can.

 

The fact that his fingers twitch more than usual around the wheel on the way to the shopping center is of no consequence. The fact that he spends half his time there debating a call to Louis’ phone just to check on him is not at all sad and pathetic. It’s not at all worrying when he receives a few strange looks because he stops to eye the ‘NEW death by chocolate’ flavoured lubricants, talking to himself loudly enough to be overheard.

 

 “ _Oh for christ sake, keep walking. Stop finding excuses to think of him_.”

 

Harry is not at all in over his head.

 

.....

 

When Louis wakes up, it’s to Harry holding a plate under his nose that smells remarkably like his mum’s sausage casserole.

 

“Harry, is that--“

 

“Sausage casserole,” Harry says with a nod and a wide smile, “your mum called. I hope you don’t mind that I picked up,” Louis’ whole body seizes up and he looks up at Harry with horror. “Oh no, I didn’t say anything. She doesn’t know...but I asked her what you liked to eat.”

 

Louis lets out a short sigh of relief and watches Harry’s face crease up in response.

 

“I’ll tell her okay,” he lies, “just not now.”

 

“It’s fine,” Harry soothes, settling the plate down in Louis’ lap, “just tell her when you’re ready.”

 

Louis uses the spoon Harry hands him, heaping sausage, onion, carrot and the sauce onto it’s surface before planting it in his mouth. It’s too hot and he hisses, half the sauce dribbling out the side of his mouth as Harry watches him. _Really fucking cool_ , _why don’t you just smear it all over your face_?

 

“Lou,” Harry shakes his head, exasperated.

 

Louis glares at him and reaches up to wipe the mess on his face with the softness of his sleeve. Harry gives him a warning look and Louis sighs as Harry tugs his wrist away from his mouth. He replaces it with his own hand, wiping the sauce with his thumb and making Louis slightly hot and bothered when he rises up on his knees, spreading his legs a little in the process. Harry has fantastic thighs and when he leans closer, his tight jeans press against them, emphasising their delectable thickness.

 

Louis can’t be blamed for what happens when Harry tries to pull his finger away. He grabs Harry’s finger and brings it to his tongue, resisting the urge to suck it greedily into his mouth. Instead, his tongue flicks out and rolls around the tip of his finger, lapping up the sauce as Harry’s jaw goes slack  and his emerald green eyes glaze over. Once done, Harry again tries to pull his hand away but Louis is a man possessed, his cock twitching inside his pants. He’s not done and as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck he notices Harry has sauce on the dip of skin between his thumb and forefinger. If that isn’t a sign, then Louis isn’t from Yorkshire.

 

“Missed some,” he breathes, wishing belatedly that he hadn’t sounded so much like a serial killer closing in on his victim.

 

Louis’ mouth wraps around Harry’s thumb tight and he pushes his lips down until they close over the soft skin between his fingers. Harry moans, his eyes fluttering closed. When Louis looks down, he notices Harry’s cock pressing eagerly against the line of his jeans and knows that he’s inadvertently caused Harry quite the problem. He doesn’t feel triumphant, proud or anything remotely superior. Perhaps because when he finishes sucking on Harry’s skin and pulls away with a loud wet pop, he can still hear Harry’s moan echoing around his mind like a particularly torturous, erotic symphony. He also feels the persistent pulse of his own cock in his pants. While he ignores it as best he can, there’s no denying that Harry’s response has gotten him hard.

 

He’s been completely shattered in every way today and somehow his cock is still active and not listening to a word he tries to tell it. Duncan, he reminds his genitals, not Harry...but they don’t care. Harry bites his red as sin lip and rakes a hand through his hair, the other pressed indecently tight to his crotch. It’s not moving but still, it’s just pressed right _there_ , cupping his huge bulge like Harry categorically planned Louis’ destruction with one move.

 

Louis’ mind doesn’t seem to register any of the “wrong way, go back” messages he’s been sending. It conjures up a crystal clear pornographic image of him shoving his hand down the front of Harry’s jeans and cupping his sizeable package, Harry bucking up into his hand and moaning beneath him. Louis’ dick leaks all over his pants and he can’t...he can’t do this. He can’t be this turned on by Harry-hipster-Styles when he’s still fighting for his relationship. Harry might be the most gorgeous man Louis’ laid eyes on, perhaps ever, with his snoggable, pouty lips, his thighs that are just begging to be fucked and that glistening, doe eyed lust shining in his green eyes but Louis’ a man, not an animal. Harry might have a finger-sucking kink for all he knows, it’s probably got nothing to do with Louis himself and even if it did, Louis is not interested. Not one bit. No siree.

 

“Sorry,” Louis says, breaking the awkward silence that reigns supreme.

 

To his surprise, Harry just spreads his long legs along the floor and leans back against his hands, laughing loudly. He looks like some kind of vision with his chocolate curls falling back and brushing the back of his neck, exposing his plump lips parted around a laugh and the strong curve of his jaw. His flannel is now unbuttoned to the chest because he’d gotten warm while cooking and it exposes the shiny black of his tattoos and the dusty pink of what look like two very hard nipples, a sea shell necklace swinging between them.

 

“Don’t apologise,” Harry continues to laugh, “Christ. I’m the one who should apologise. It’s ah,” Harry’s eyes shoot off to the corner of the room, “been a while since I---you know.”  


“How long?” Louis asks curiously, trying to distract himself from his leaking cock and how badly he wants to wrap a hand around himself and get off.

 

“A month,” Harry says, playing with his necklace.

 

Louis counts backward in his head. It can’t have been more than five weeks since he moved in with Duncan. It’s not connected, he tells himself, that’s crazy. Why would his presence stop Harry from having sex? Ridiculous.

 

"That's a long time," he says with difficulty.

 

Harry drops his head to his shoulder in a lazy shrug, his curls trickling down in front of his eyes. Tt's so endearing that Louis finds another genuine smile working at the edges of his lips. It amazes him how distant this morning's events can feel when he's sitting here with Harry in the evening discussing Harry’s lack of sex life. This morning exists in one corner of his mind while Harry occupies another. Louis knows which corner he’s sticking to. One of Harry's large hands moves up to squeeze his neck while the other slides down between his knees.

 

"I've got my hand," he jokes weakly, "it does wonders."

 

Louis might be staring. _Stop staring_. It's impossible though because Harry's hand is massaging his neck and the other...if he slid it up a little higher, it would be between his gorgeous thighs. Louis feels dizzy. He feels wretched. Surely Harry's doing this on purpose in order to drive him insane because Louis is. Going insane, that is. His mouth is totally dry and his pulse is loud in his ears. _You're desperate for it,_ Duncan whispers inside his mind and Louis feels the phantom sensation of Duncan's shoe in his side. 

 

He feels dirty, so dirty all of a sudden. He's still in the same clothes as he was this morning, those same clothes that he wore in Harry's bed last night. Suddenly he just wants to rid himself of it all and burn it to ash. He breaks down, a sob tearing through his chest as his mind rushes back to that morning. He remembers the way his jumper creased with each blow and how Duncan had sometimes panted from the effort of keeping himself balanced while he slammed his foot into Louis again and again. He remembers how his fingers had curled and clenched against the floor as Duncan kicked his head and the world spun, wondering if Duncan would continue to beat him until he died.

 

"Lou," Harry says now, stretching up on his knees to gather Louis' face in his palms, "Lou, are you okay?"

 

Louis simply turns his face to one side, continuing to cry as he nuzzles his cheek more firmly into the softness of Harry's palm. Harry's emerald green eyes start to leak tears all of their own.

 

"Of course you're not okay," he says with self-vehemence, "you've been through so much," Harry squeezes his cheek and brushes away each and every tear that forms at the corner of his eye, "you've been so brave all day that I forgot, I forgot how much you must be hurting. I'm so sorry Louis. I'm sorry that this happened to you...that _he_ happened to you. You deserve so much better and I only wish you could see that."

 

Louis' bottom lip trembles with feeling as he reaches up, his hand quivering with how much he wants to touch. He cards his fingers through the front of Harry's curls and Harry lets out a hiccup and starts to cry more.

 

"This is so s-s-stupid," he sniffs, "you shouldn't have to comfort me Louis. I'm not the one who's been through hell today."

 

Louis' tears have dried up because he focuses on Harry instead. Harry, with his football field sized heart.

 

"But you have Haz," he says, tucking Harry's curls behind his ear and scratching the spot tenderly, "because you were right there with me...and there's nothing I can say," Louis swallows a tight bubble of emotion, "and nothing I can do to thank you for that or to explain how much I feel for you… because I do," Louis eyes flutter closed, the heaviness of his heart weighing him down, “I feel so much."’

 

_So much, it terrifies me._

 

"Louis.”

 

Harry sounds so pained, so awed and ever so vulnerable.

 

"I need to have a shower," Louis announces, trying to break the tension, "okay if I use the bathroom?"

 

Harry wipes at his eyes, shaking his head at himself as he holds up a lazy hand.

 

"Course. Go ahead."

 

Louis smiles at him softly and then lifts his plate and himself up off the couch. Yet when he stands up and takes a step, a huge wave of pain ripples through his side and he doubles over, the plate sliding to the floor with a clatter as he wraps his arms around his middle, trying to breathe through the tight, raw sensation. 

 

"Louis, _jesus_ ," Harry swears, wrapping his arms around Louis' middle to hold him up.

 

"I'm fine Harry," Louis says through gritted teeth, "I just need to have a shower." 

 

"Fine, my arse," _yes it is_ , Louis thinks off handedly, _too fine for me to have any peace of mind_ , "I can hear you gritting your teeth."

 

Harry pulls him back to the couch and Louis submits with an irritated sigh, throwing his hands up in the air with annoyance as Harry looks down on him.

 

"What am I supposed to do? I'm dirty," Louis whines, "and I need a shower. Haz, _please_."

 

Harry runs a hand across the top of Louis' hair as though he can't help it, his eyes two spheres of softness. 

 

“I’ll help you.”

 

Louis’ mind draws a blank. Surely he can’t mean...

 

“Hey, don’t look so panicked,” Harry kneels before him and places both hands on his knees, squeezing gently, “I don’t mean...like you don’t have to...I meant with clothing,” Louis’ brow furrows and Harry shakes his head, a self-indulgent grin spreading across his mouth, “excuse me, I’m flustered,” _Flustered? Why?_ “I meant, you could wear your underwear. It would just be like going to a pool... except in my shower and I’d hold you up. I’m not convinced you haven’t at least cracked a rib and I can’t believe they didn’t x-ray you. More importantly, if you hurt yourself in my shower Jay would have my head.”

 

“Jay?”

 

Louis raises an eyebrow and Harry flushes right down to his roots, drawing his knees up to his chest and hiding his head between them.

 

“We get along, okay?” Harry says defensively and then realises himself, peering up at Louis from between his knees with solemn green eyes looming large in his face. Those and his curls are the only parts of his face that Louis can see. It’s irritatingly adorable. “That okay?”

 

Louis leans forward, shooting pains flying through his middle as he lifts Harry’s floppy head, sliding his fingers into Harry’s curls and scratching behind his ears. He can’t be blamed for the fact that Harry is some kind of fawn-like, poodle haired, green eyed sweetheart and that his curls feel like silk and smell like strawberries.

 

“Yes, it’s okay. Honorary Tomlinson remember?”

 

Harry tilts his head so that Louis’ fingers slide further across his scalp and he shares with Louis a lopsided smile that makes one of his dimples deepen, creating soft happy crinkles that radiate out from his cheekbone.

 

“I remember,” he says, reaching up to grab Louis’ hands, “Harry Tomlinson.”  


Louis’ breath flees his chest. He hadn’t heard it that way when he’d said it to Harry. _Harry Tomlinson._ At the time he’d been mucking around, trying to ease some more of the somber, miserable tension that had filled the air when Harry fled the hospital in tears. Hearing it repeated back to him now sends an unsanctioned thrill through his veins and he can’t bring himself to ask why. Not now. Not when everything is still up in the air and Harry is offering to shower with him, for Christ’s sake.

 

“You can help me,” Louis says swiftly, avoiding the topic, “but just...this isn’t, I don’t want this to be like...you can’t tell anybody.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, his smile retreating and Louis feels like honest to god manure but there’s nothing he can do. He can’t take it back. Showering half naked with your stunning neighbour turned caretaker is _not_ okay, not even when you might have cracked a rib. It’s not okay when you’ve still got hope for the tatters of the relationship that you left waiting for you in the darkness of your flat.

 

“Okay...” Harry says slowly and stands up, pulling Louis with him.

 

He keeps an arm wrapped around Louis’ waist as he sweeps Louis up into his arms, bridal style and carries him into the kitchen and beyond.

 

“I can walk you know. I just need a little...support.”

 

Harry’s eyes have returned to two sparkling green gems. He looks down and winks at Louis.

 

“I know. I just like to pretend that I’m the burly fireman saving you from the deadly blaze inside your flat.”

 

Louis’ stomach is a fucking traitor. Butterflies, really _?_ All it took was one image of Harry donned in one of those silly fire retardant uniforms with a hard hat and a smudge of grease on his face and his stomach is in knots _. Pathetic._

“Oh shush you,” Louis scolds as Harry sets him down on the bathroom counter, “you just love to rub it in my face that you’re bigger than me.”

 

Harry shrugs and grins.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“So...” Louis says awkwardly, afraid to just jump down and start getting his kit off without Harry’s permission.

 

Thankfully Harry is not so shy. He pushes the door closed and then flicks on the light.  Louis forgot how bright Harry’s bathroom light was, bright enough to illuminate all the places where his skin is less than taut against his body...the places where a layer of fat stands between him and attractiveness.

 

Harry has no such issues, unbuttoning his dark flannel with deft fingers and a supremely casual air that contrasts starkly with the mess of sensation inside Louis. Fireworks explode in his brain, whiting everything else out as Harry shucks his shirt off and then slides his tight jeans down. He does it so slowly that Louis would think he were teasing if this were anything outside of a friendly favour. After Harry slips his socks off, he stands up in all his muscled, lean glory and Louis doesn’t know whether to sing God’s praises or curse him for the thoughts that run through his head.

 

Harry moves toward him slowly and Louis watches in slack jawed fascination as the muscles in his arms roll and ripple from the top of his broad shoulders, to his thick, firm biceps, right down to the beginning of his forearms. The creamy coloured skin covering his abdominals tightens with each step, showing off his lovely washboard stomach. Then there are his thighs. _Shit_ , _his fuckable, kissable, darling thighs._ They’re shaped like those of an ancient artist’s angelic nude statue. They’re like one of those statues that Louis had come across many times on his travels and had t had internally scoffed at because he’d assumed that such manifestations of beauty couldn’t possibly exist. Why remind everybody about what they’ll never be; what they’ll never have?

 

Now staring fixedly down at Harry’s thighs, Louis knows he wasn’t able to come to any kind of logical conclusion at the time. He hadn’t had all the information. Though Harry might not be perfect, with the light smattering of pimples around the edges of his face or the way his arms hang down, slightly too long for his torso…he is angelically stunning. He’s something that is not of this world and yet somehow exists within it. Louis is surprised to note that he means that in more than just the physical sense. Harry’s compassion is something that cannot be rivaled. Still Louis can’t comprehend anything right now beyond the soft, milky skin of Harry’s thighs swaying with each step. He can’t think about much else apart from how very badly he’d like to bury his face between them. _Fuck._

 

“You ready?” Harry asks as he squeezes Louis’ hips.

 

It felt like Harry was walking in slow motion for those few, short steps and Louis is shocked back to reality with a sharp snap. He’s shocked back to the reality with the realisation that it’s his turn to shed his clothes. He’s quivering with how afraid he is to be exposed beneath the bright light and Harry’s gaze. He’s afraid to have Harry look down upon him and see nothing but disgusting pockets of fat. Harry must feel his trembling because he slides his hands up underneath Louis’ jumper, warming the cold skin with his palms as his thumbs rub circles into the points of Louis’ hip bones. Louis shivers again but this time, it’s from the shock pleasure.

 

“May I?” Harry asks from beneath his eyelashes, lightly tugging on Louis’ jumper.

 

Louis’ barely hanging on to consciousness, so dazed by the dizzying contrast between Harry’s broad, muscled body and the gentleness with which he. He nods his head, struck dumb. Harry smiles a touch nervously and then uses his grip on Louis’ jumper to slowly lift it up over his head. Louis closes his eyes and doesn’t open them even when he hears the soft swish of his jumper against the bathroom floor. He sucks in his stomach just slightly and continues to shake, unable to help himself. This is so different to being on the couch before with Harry’s lips pressed to his stomach. He’s completely illuminated under this light. Harry’s hands fall back to his hips and he responds to Louis’ tension the same way as before, rubbing soft, soothing circles into his skin.

 

“Lou, stop sucking in,” Harry instructs and he sounds positively wounded by Louis’ low self-esteem, “You’re not fat. This,” Harry’s fingers splay over his pouch. More commonly known as the extra layer of fat around his stomach that he so despises, “is perfect. Please don’t be ashamed darling.”

 

There’s something about Harry’s insistent sincerity that makes Louis’ heart settle and his eyes open. Harry hadn’t pretended like it wasn’t there. He hadn’t lied and coddled Louis, acting as if Louis had washboard abs and a perfect figure just like him. No, instead he’d acknowledged the same thing Louis sees in the mirror every day. He’d just somehow interpreted it differently. The earnestness in Harry’s voice convinces Louis that it’s no act. Harry _likes_ the curve of his stomach.

 

It bolsters Louis’ confidence, enough that he’s able to gently lower himself to the floor and ignore the flutters of pain while he divests himself of his trousers. Harry watches the whole time with wide eyes and a chest that rises and falls quickly in tandem with Louis’ own. He curls an arm around Louis as soon as he’s done, pulling their bodies together so that their bare stomachs brush intimately against one another. It leaves a hot kernel of fire burning in Louis’ own.

 

Harry tugs him towards the shower and then reaches in with one hand to turn on the water, fiddling with the taps and sticking his hand under the spray as he waits for it to get warm. Louis shifts from foot to foot, freezing his arse off until Harry finally steps inside and gently pulls him along. Louis is too relieved to be under the hot, steady stream of water to think too much about their proximity. He tilts his head back, almost forgetting the supportive arm cradling his middle and preventing him from bending too far. A steady stream of water rushes down over his hair and past the crest of his chin, falling down to his neck in perfect waves of heat that make him shudder with pleasure. It’s ridiculous but Louis had forgotten how good this was, how a hot shower could work out his kinks and chase away his misery like nothing else. It makes him feel human again and it’s comforting to know that some things don’t change. Even when his whole world is crumbling around him, he still has this, this small source of momentary pleasure.

 

When Louis opens his eyes, he remembers where he is and almost chokes on the water that spills into his open mouth. Water dances over Harry’s dark eyelashes and his large, dusty pink nipples shine with the liquid that splashes over them. His dark curls are plastered to his long, lean neck and the cherry coloured, plump swell of his mouth is somehow even more obscene with droplets of water easing down over its berry tinted curve. Harry is a vision and yet he’s staring at Louis with a similar sense of awe, his green eyes looming large in his face as he tightens his fingers around Louis’ waist, squeezing firmly.

 

Louis reaches for the shampoo and Harry loosens his grip but then takes it from him straight away. Louis pouts at him, disgruntled and Harry chuckles.

 

“Let me,” he says, still grinning as he squirts some of the sweet, strawberry shampoo into his hands, “I can reach better.”

 

Louis swats at his chest and Harry flashes a wounded look, pretending to shield his nipples. It makes Louis laugh and Harry’s face seems to flush with pleasure as he brings his hand to Louis’ hair, the other still holding him in place. Louis almost melts down the shower with how pleasurable it is, Harry’s hand working over his scalp and massaging the sore, tender spots with gentle fingers, avoiding the worst ones just in case.

 

Louis sighs softly when Harry’s hand reaches over to get the base of his hair and then ends up on his neck, massaging firmly. When Harry pulls his hand back, Louis wants to cry out but he ignores the urge and just steps closer, running his fingers up Harry’s chest to land on his shoulder, balancing himself while he washes the shampoo out.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Harry murmurs and his arm drifts lower, curling around Louis’ lower back.

 

Louis opens his eyes to Harry’s concentrated gaze sliding up and down his body, lingering on his face and stomach.

 

“Oh stop,” Louis says, too loud and falsely bright, “you’re like...Mr. GQ. I’m surprised they don’t want you for the front cover.”

 

A strange expression crosses Harry’s face. Guilt? Doubt? It’s too quick for Louis to catch it but Harry evidently doesn’t want him to as he busies himself with applying conditioner to Louis’ hair and ignoring the compliment. Louis’ too easily distracted. He submits to Harry’s soft touch with weak knees and an even weaker sense of control. His hands slide down to Harry’s hips, incidentally the plumpest part of his body and he pulls and kneads at the skin. Harry’s breath hitches over and over again and his fingers squeeze Louis’ side intermittently.

 

“Soap,” Harry says huskily and Louis opens his eyes to Harry handing him a bar of vanilla scented soap.

 

Louis takes it from him and scrubs himself as best he can when Harry is so close and holding him upright. He’s distracted by the pair of eyes that he can feel following the path of the soap on his skin and tracing his face with such laser focus.

 

“Do you want me to do your back?” Harry asks, that same smokiness still colouring his tone.

 

Louis hesitates but then nods, handing over the soap as he waits for Harry to direct him. Harry turns him around and then pulls him back against himself, slotting a naked thigh between Louis’ legs to make a kind of seat for him while keeping the same arm around him. It's heaven and hell and Louis wonders why life is determined to fuck him over so many times in one day.

 

Harry's thigh, his slippery, wet, firm thigh, is pressed between Louis' legs. When Louis relaxes back, it rides up his bum while his hardening length presses along the thick band of muscle in the centre. Louis wonders with encroaching horror if Harry can feel his hard cock pressed along his thigh and whether he thinks Louis is as disgusting as he feels. How could he be hard after everything he's been through? How could he want this so badly?

 

Harry doesn't say a word and instead lifts his thigh even higher, spreading Louis' bum cheeks and making him fall forward slightly. His cock glides down Harry's thigh in a tantalizing but torturous slide. Harry’s hand soaps up his back first and then he starts washing it off, massaging Louis' shoulders and lower back. He squeezes Louis around the middle every time that his other palm closes around a new expanse of tense flesh.

 

Louis can't help the off kilter moan that slips from his lips as Harry's curls happen to trail along his neck, his dick slipping down over Harry’s thigh again. Harry ignores the moan, kneading his flesh with expertise, working out the kinks and making Louis so damn hot inside that he starts to squirm. Harry's breath ghosts down over the top of his spine as he reaches around and lays his big, heavy palm over Louis’ naked stomach, feeling the way it rises and falls with each shallow breath. The tight coil of heat in Louis’ stomach snaps.

 

“Done,” Harry sighs, sounding disappointed.

 

Louis is most certainly not done. His hips jerk forward, the firmest column of flesh on Harry’s thigh pressing right up against his hole. His painfully hard dick slides along Harry’s thigh, almost right down to his knee. There’s no noise from Harry but his arm curls tighter around Louis and he gently pulls his thigh up every time Louis rocks down with his hips. Louis’ breath hitches continuously and he settles his hands over Harry’s knee, balancing himself while he cants his hips downward.  It’s not enough. His hands slip around to the back of Harry’s thigh, holding it in place as he uses it shamelessly to off. He only wants to be closer, would have Harry’s thigh inside him if he could.  In that moment, there’s nothing but the growing ripples of pleasure in Louis’ groin and the way his heart races, trying to match the rapid swing of his body. There’s nothing but the warm, steady stream of water that pools in his collarbones and cascades down his back making the glide all the more slippery and perfect.

 

As Louis’ orgasm approaches, his hip thrusts turn frantic and his fingers cling more readily to the bottom of Harry’s thigh. He starts to quietly sob, his lungs straining as pleasure, confusion and a whole range of conflicting emotions rocket through his body. Harry’s lips flutter over the back of his neck, kissing down the first few knobs of his spine in a languid trail. Then he hears Louis’ broken whimper. He pauses and brings his lips to the shell of Louis’ ear.

 

“You can let go Lou,” he whispers, “I want you to.”  


That’s what does it, the fact that Harry isn’t at all opposed to having Louis fuck his thigh until he comes. Louis’ toes curl against the shower floor and his stomach muscles tighten almost painfully. He pulls Harry’s leg up at an unnatural angle and rocks his hips down one last time, coming with a loud shout. He throws his head back as come spurts from his cock and there’s so much of it that it seeps through to the other side of his underwear.

Louis’ cock continues to spill hot come for almost a minute after that as Louis collapses back against Harry’s chest, panting and dizzy. The aftermath of the incredible sensations wash over him, his heartbeat still echoing in his ears as his thighs tremble with the shock of pleasure. The pulse of Louis’ orgasm radiates out from his groin with each aftershock but he’s completely worn out. He can’t remember the last orgasm that felt like this, like he was virtually coming apart at the seams. Louis wonders if he’s ever really had an orgasm like this.

Then it hits him...how truly desperate and filthy he is. Of course he’s risen, or fallen rather, to meet every one of Duncan’s expectations. When Duncan had insulted him in the past, Louis had wept for the fact that Duncan thought of him that way. The person who loved him best thought him so awful and that meant it might be true but now it’s more than that. Now there’s no possibility that Duncan could be wrong. Louis feels completely wretched.

 

 _I deserve it_ , he realises as every other voice in his head falls silent, _I deserve every blow_. There had been moments today, when Harry had been with him, treating him like fine china and somehow making him smile, that Louis had thought perhaps Harry was right, perhaps it hadn’t all been his fault. He’d still been determined to make things right but a tiny voice in his head had said that it wasn’t entirely up to him, that he shouldn’t have had to lie there and take it. Yet now a high, broken and cut off noise falls from his mouth as thick tears ooze down his cheeks and his heart clamps up with pain.

 

How could he use Harry this way? How could he betray his love for Duncan like this? He’s dirty and disgusting and Duncan was right, he’s nothing. Nobody could want him but Duncan and there’s a chance that Duncan will never want him again. That thought starts a steady whining noise and then both Harry’s arms curl around him, lifting him from his thigh as the water shuts off. Harry turns him around and then pulls him to his chest, the fingers of one hand massaging his wet hair as the others clamp around his hip and squeeze gently.

 

“Lou,” Harry coos, “Sweetheart. I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry love,” Harry’s hand drifts down to massage the base of his neck and he can feel Harry’s body trembling against his own, “I shouldn’t have let you...not when you’ve been through so much but I could feel it, I could feel your body vibrating with tension and I just wanted you to let it go. God, Lou...I should have known better. I’m so sorry.”

 

Louis pulls back from Harry’s chest, Harry’s hand still on his neck and looks up at him with confusion, his next sob falling away to nothing.

 

“You’re sorry?” he says with tears blurring his vision, “why are _you_ sorry Harry? I used you, I used you shamelessly and all you did was let me. All you did was try and help me because you’re so good. Harry, I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t believe I--“

 

“Lou, my god Lou,” Harry’s hands cup his wet cheeks and his jade green eyes are full of disbelief, “you can’t actually think I would have done that for you if I didn’t want to?”

 

Louis’ eyes blow wide.

 

“You...you...what?”

 

Harry massages his cheek with his palm and Louis’ eyelashes flutter, leaving tiny droplets of water along his cheeks.

 

“You lost yourself in the moment and that’s okay...but you’re not the only one.”

 

Disappointment expands within Louis’ chest. _Fuck_. It’s a good thing, he tells himself, it’s good that he just got caught up in the moment and that it wasn’t anything more.

 

“Oh, well I’m--“

 

Harry cuts of his speech with the pressure of his hand and Louis glares at him.

 

“Don’t apologise _please_. It was nothing to be ashamed of...it was only natural. You’ve been so tense and worked up all day, for good reason but you needed to let some of it go. Louis, you were beautiful. It was beautiful when you...” Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs and then he drops his voice to a whisper, “when you came. It was the most stunning thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

 

Louis’ limp cock throbs against his thigh but he ignores it. No one has ever called him beautiful in orgasm and the flutter of emotion that rises in his chest in response to that is hard to ignore. Harry Styles, patron saint of Goodness. Still, Louis can’t help the awful vortex of guilt that ravages his heart. He turns away from Harry and steps out the shower, grabbing the first towel he sees. When he turns around, Harry’s eyes seem to snap back up to his face from a point lower down and he pulls Louis into him, wrapping the towel more firmly around Louis’ body. Louis tries to get free but Harry won’t let him, holding him there with steady arms and unflinching eyes.

 

“Harry--“

 

“Stop it Louis,” Harry hushes him, “stop beating yourself up for being able to function. This,” Harry’s hand reaches around to gingerly cup one of the bruised spots on his head, “this,” his fingers flutter over Louis’ black eye, “and these,” he presses his palm against the collection of bruises on Louis’ stomach, “are not deserved and you are not deserving of misery. To forget, to be _able_ to forget for the few moments that you have today…that’s a blessing Lou, not a curse and it’s not a shameful thing. Not at all.”

 

The slow pulse of Louis’ heart and the ache in his chest disagrees but Louis’ compelled to please the angelic statue holding him in place. He smiles weakly and reaches up to brush Harry’s wet curls from his face, his own heart fluttering in response to the contented sigh that falls from Harry’s lips. Surely Louis’ touch cannot be as therapeutic as Harry’s.

 

“You should dry off,” Louis says with an upward flick of his mouth, “you look like a drowned baby giraffe.”

 

Harry lets out a surprised bark of a laugh and then unexpectedly presses a kiss to Louis’ wet temple. It kind of makes him go pink all over. Once again he notes that his instinctual responses to Harry are inarguably abhorrent. The after effects of Harry’s touch always involve a unique contrast of emotions. There’s homely comfort and a feeling of intrinsic safety that acts as an anesthetic for his pain. Yet there’s also a torturous kind of tension that expels heat into his blood and raises his temperature slowly, heightening his body’s arousal until he’s near mad with longing. Both sensations are so at odds with everything that’s happened today. How can he feel so safe when everything is still in limbo? How can he feel so uneasy about Harry’s touch when it spurns such a pleasant kind of fire inside?

 

Suddenly Louis’ exhaustion takes over. Even after having a nap he’s tired because one day has been stretched into what feels like a whole week and in this moment, everything finally catches up with him. He sways on his feet while the whole day zooms past in his mind, an avalanche of misery and regret contrasting with emotions that don’t make any sense. _Harry…it’s Harry_. If Harry hadn’t have been there, Louis would be in pieces. He honestly doesn’t know whether he’s more grateful or bitter.

 

“Woah Lou,” Harry exclaims, catching him as he starts to sway, “let’s get you into something warm and then we’ll put you to bed, yeah?”

 

 _Will you lie with me and just forget the world?_ Louis hums the tune in Harry’s ear.

 

......

 

Louis’ in one of Harry’s jumpers because he’d forgotten to bring one of his own and had quietly admitted to Harry that he wasn’t ready to go back to his flat yet. It’s a huge, fluffy white thing that falls almost to his knees and Louis can’t help but wonder if Harry didn’t just pick out the biggest one he could find. It seems especially so when Louis emerges from the bathroom in said jumper and some tartan pajama pants. Harry grins at him softly and then tugs him into a close hug. He buries his nose in Louis’ neck and inhales, none too subtly, the sweet scent of his own soap on Louis’ skin. Louis pretends that it doesn’t send a rush of warmth from his cranium to his toes as he gently extricates himself from the hug and then pads into Harry’s room.

 

“I’ll just um...sleep on the couch,” Harry mumbles, hanging onto the side of the door as he watches Louis get into bed.

 

Louis gives him a funny look and then raises an eyebrow.

 

“Why?”

 

Harry looks tense and unsure of himself.

 

“I figured you’d want some space.”

 

“Harry,” Louis sighs, “I don’t want space. I don’t want to be alone. Please, I--“ he sighs again and then drops his eyebrows inward, looking up at Harry with what he hopes is an endearing plea, “I need Harry cuddles.”

 

To his relief, Harry giggles, biting the sleeve of his shirt that fits tightly across his chest and arms. His hair is still flat across the top from the shower but it flicks up at the sides and the ends, making him look boyish and young. Louis wants Harry in his arms so badly it makes his throat ache. He can’t reconcile the two sides of himself, one wanting what he had before it all fell apart this morning and the other straining for this new version of his life that exists within this flat, being looked after and playing house with Harry.

 

Harry goes over to the tall, black set of drawers that face his four-poster bed and switches on the TV. He pops a DVD in the side and when the friends theme songs starts playing and the menu pops up on the screen, he turns to look back at Louis with one of his smiles that could melt butter.

 

“This okay? Just in the background?”

 

Louis smiles his consent and then Harry hits play and crawls onto the bed and under the covers, pulling Louis into his side immediately as Louis hoped. They watch in silence for a little while, one of Louis’ legs in between Harry’s, one hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder while the other cards through his curls. Harry’s arms are around his middle and their stomachs are lined up again, Louis’ head fitted to Harry’s neck in the spot just below his chin.  Louis’ eyes start to drift closed as Harry’s warmth spreads through his own system but he mumbles an unintelligible plea against Harry’s collarbone.

 

“What Lou?”

 

“Story, tell me a story Haz.” Louis says, his voice thick with drowsiness.

 

Harry chuckles and Louis feels lips in his hair, which makes him sigh and snuggle in closer.

 

“Okay,” Harry concedes and then slips his hand up under the back of Louis’ jumper, rubbing the soft skin there with the tips of his fingers as if afraid to press his hand down any harder.

 

“Once I met this guy--“

 

“Not a real story,” Louis mumbles grumpily, pouting.

 

Harry chuckles and drums his fingers against the small of Louis’ back.

 

“Humor me,” he murmurs.

 

“Fine,” Louis sighs.

 

Another chuckle.

 

"I met a guy who was brilliant and beautiful in almost every way you can be brilliant and beautiful. He had bright blue eyes and a wonderful sense of humor and he hated me on sight--"

 

Louis cracks his eyes open at that and lifts his head off of Harry to glare at him incredulously.

 

"I did not hate you on sight!"

 

_Quite the opposite, in fact._

 

"Oh and I thought I was being subtle," Harry says with cheek.

 

Louis settles back into his spot, closing his eyes and shaking his head while against his better intentions, a fond grin forms on his lips.

 

"Hmm," Harry hums, palm sliding across Louis' back, "where was I? Oh yes, hated me on sight," Louis licks the hollow of his neck in punishment and Harry giggles, "okay so you...I mean he," Louis snorts softly, "didn't hate me but he certainly didn't want to be my friend," Louis frowns at that, "and yet the more of him I saw, the more I wanted just that," Harry's voice turns rough at the edges, "to be his friend.

 

"The problem was that once he let me in a little, I didn't like what I saw," Louis' breath hitches but Harry just keeps talking, slow and smooth, like nothing happened, "I didn't like that he didn't know those things about himself. He didn't know how brilliant or beautiful he was and when I looked further, I found that the unhappiness I saw in his eyes stemmed from something worse."

 

"What?" Louis asks quickly, forgetting for a moment that it's to him who Harry's referring.

 

"From being bullied by someone he was in love with."

 

Louis' body shudders and he wants to fight against the proposition but it's right there inside him, settling into his bones and making him think about everything he's been through in the same way Harry seems to.

 

"He didn't know how much he deserved. He expected only the bare minimum and even thought himself lucky when he got it. I could see it in his eyes. To be touched gently…it felt magical to him. He opened up for his boyfriend after probably being hardened against that kind of thing for much of his life. Yet this man drew it out of him and captured him in his net. He hasn't been able to find his way free since. He hasn't wanted to because he thinks he's privileged. He genuinely believes that he’s unworthy on his own, that he's been given a chance to be anything but."

 

Louis is tense all over even as the exhaustion clouds his brain and makes his voice come out sluggish and slow.

 

"What if he's right? What if he doesn't want to be free so never is?"

 

"This isn't that kind of story."

 

"What kind of story is it?" Louis questions, rubbing his head against Harry's collarbones because they smell like vanilla and something uniquely Harry, something intoxicatingly sweet.

 

"The kind where my friend finds his way out because he knows deep down that he has to. The kind where he looks in the mirror every morning and finds the reasons everybody else thinks he's brilliant and beautiful and not the reasons the man he loves doesn't. The kind where the bruises on his skin never stop that beautiful smile from crinkling his eyes because however hard he's been beaten and however hard he's fallen, there's still a bravery within him that’s only waiting to be rediscovered each time."

 

"Harry," Louis croaks, opening his mouth just enough to press a kiss to Harry's chest.

 

"Sleep Lou," Harry sighs, "sleep and in the morning, we'll talk. We'll rediscover your bravery together."

 

Louis nods even as his mind whispers "New York" and his heart cries out "fraud.” He’s pretending to feel what Harry wants him to feel. He's pretending to believe in a better future when all he really believes in is the disjointed one he might have with Duncan if he can just convince him of it. There's no way he can tell Duncan about what happened in the shower with Harry. It was, like Harry said, a moment where they lost themselves. It doesn't mean anything.

 

Eventually Louis notices his breaths starting to even out and his limbs start to feel heavy so he winds his fingers around Harry's curls and shifts closer, completely enveloping himself in the warmth of Harry's skin. Yet when Louis' consciousness finally slips away, a new one replaces it; a dark nightmare in which he's right back where he was that morning, Duncan's foot slamming into his head and a horrifying nothingness blanketing his mind. Louis' mouth opens in a scream as he sits bolt upright in bed.

 

Harry awakens and gathers him close, whispering soothing words and calming him by softly petting his hair. Louis just cries until the broken part of his soul tires itself out and he's no longer able to produce sound. They settle back into a similar formation but this time, Harry presses his lips to Louis' temple and they fall asleep just like that, Louis' tears slowly drying on his face while Harry's lips stay poised against his skin, chasing the worst of his demons away.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a summary of important/relevant events from the previous chapter(s) in my lazy, random way of speaking English:
> 
> -Louis spent forty minutes looking through childhood pics of Harry on Niall’s phone like an adorable little creeper  
> \- Liam was very bad, not good, worried about Louis and really didn’t have any clue what was going down.  
> -What was going down was that Louis’ dipshit, dickhead, dark hearted boyfriend beat him up and Harry was a bit too late to rescue him.  
> \- Duncan up an left Louis dying on the floor and flew to New York  
> -Harry took Louis to the hospital with life threatening brain injuries  
> -Harry promised Jay he'd look after her baby and did exactly that  
> -Louis accidentally or not so accidentally fucked Harry’s thigh in the shower and came hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the super long hiatus. It’s been almost a month! Uni is a bitch sometimes and I do get rather tired and lose my motivation while gaining some writer’s block in the process. However hopefully the length of this chapter will slightly make up for how long it took me to get it to you! Plus, it’s a really good chapter I think in terms of their progression :) 
> 
> Comments are welcome and EXTREMELEY APPRECIATED as always. Pleeeeeease talk to me x
> 
> In case you didn’t know, this is my tumblr in case you also wanted to talk to me here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lovehoperomance
> 
> Oh and um does New York have normal beaches? I don’t know. I’ve never been. However it does now :D

When Harry awakens, the doona is mysteriously missing and Louis' body is still tangled up with his own. His soft hair is brushing against the hollow in Harry's neck while his hand lies fisted in Harry's shirt, one bare foot tucked between both of Harry's and consequently encapsulated in warmth. The length of one thigh rests along the top of Harry's and when Harry opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Louis on his stomach, snuggling up even closer. Louis squeezes a stretch of the material covering Harry's stomach, pulling the neckline of the shirt down and exposing Harry’s pecs to the slightly frost air.  
Louis looks completely devoid of hurt like this, his face smoothed out and clear of any tension lines, his limbs all floppy and relaxed. However the blackened eye tells an altogether different story, sitting across from and contrasting with a perfectly smooth, olive toned eyelid that makes the damage to his other eye all the more obvious. Even so, his eyebrows are not furrowed and as Harry skims a finger along them, for a moment he can pretend that the fragile man lying on his chest hasn't been through the worst thing imaginable. He can pretend he's not fallen for somebody who's not altogether whole.

 

Louis shifts himself so he’s covering even more of Harry's body, the hand that was resting balled up at his side scrunching in the sheets while the other stays knitted in Harry’s shirt. Louis' thigh falls from atop Harry's to in between and suddenly their positions from last night are slightly reversed as Louis' thigh presses down firmly against Harry's morning wood. Despite this, Harry can feel Louis' equally problematic hard on pressing against his thigh. Even in sleep, Louis manages to ruin him. Just then, Louis lets out a kind of startled gurgle and a low pitched whine and begins to rock his hips down, pressing his thigh more insistently into Harry's crotch with every thrust. Harry can't stop the quiet gasps that burst from his lips each time. He feels Louis beginning to leak through his underwear and even through the thickness of his trousers, the wetness seeps through to Harry’s thigh. Harry only just manages to prevent himself from leaking all over Louis.  
  
He's the one who's awake and in control… or at least he should be. Therefore, there's no excuse for him to put his hands on the tempting globes of Louis' bum, framed so perfectly by the tight fit of those ridiculous, adorable tartan pants. There’s no reason to knead the softness there and squeeze in time with the heavy thud of his heart. There's certainly no excuse for him to cup Louis' bum and press, encouraging Louis to ride his thigh faster…harder, increasing the pressure on his own dick until they both cream their briefs like pubescent teenage boys. No reason.

 

What had he told Louis last night? That they lost themselves to the moment or… in the moment...something about a loss of rationality? That's all it had been for Louis, a build-up of tension that needed release. Harry was happy to give it to him and he had also given Louis the explanation he needed to hear to absolve him of his unnecessary guilt. Harry had pretended that he himself had for some reason lost his grip on his actions. In reality, while he's certainly not been thinking straight, he can't say he would have done things differently given a second chance. He only wishes that it had been _him_ that Louis wanted. Harry wishes only that when Louis rocked down against him, he would have whined Harry’s name and been spurred on by more than just the weight of something firm between his legs. That’s Harry's only regret about last night....that Louis had lost himself in the moment rather than to the feeling of being with Harry.

 

In the light of day, there is no excuse. There cannot be a satisfactory explanation for Harry getting off without Louis’ express consent and as much the sensation curls his toes and burns in his blood oh so pleasantly, Harry cannot let this continue. He cannot let Louis get off for the second time without his wits about him. Last night was different. It was about more than physical need. It was about healing and taking a weight off of Louis’ shoulders. It was about not being able to resist the way Louis’ fingers gripped his thigh and held him there and the way his breath had hitched continuously, tiny whimpers falling from his mouth that turned into full blown sobs as his pleasure arced over him and seemingly surprised him with its magnitude.

 

Even amidst Louis’ guilt and Harry’s longing for something a little more personal, those moments of shared connectedness had been genuine. They had, for the briefest moment, as need coloured them both desperate, reached into each other’s chests and grabbed the shaking organs inside. Louis had held Harry’s fluttering heart in his fist as it burst with fondness, deep concern and astonishing awe. By exposing himself in the way he had and going to pieces as he came, Louis had squeezed Harry’s heat until the confines poured out like celebratory confetti. Watching Louis was an emotional experience and a half. It was like all of the hurt rose up in the heat of Louis’ orgasm and threatened to swallow him whole but the rush of sensations covering the surface of his skin had forced it back under. It hadn’t been able to find a way through his defences. Harry’s thigh beneath him had kept him grounded, tied to the physicality of being with Harry rather than the pain that awaited him next door in his flat.

 

Feeling Louis let go in the shower the way he had, feeing his muscles flexing around the warm weight of Harry’s arm reminded Harry a lot of the first night he spent alone in his flat after having moved out of home. He’d finally moved away from the constant pressure and pain that came from never being the kind of son his parents wanted or knew how to love. He had spent the first night in his new flat with a cheap bottle of red and his chunky camera, taking shots of the night sky through the window in his room. He’d looked down at the lights of London starting to flicker on in the onset of darkness and had felt illuminated himself by the expanse of freedom at his disposal. It was a freedom that existed within and without.

 

His parent’s house had been dark and dreary; a prison world. Even the windows had been barred to some extent and all his life Harry had felt caged. He’d felt trapped by a life he didn’t sign up for, a house he didn’t belong in and  a lack of warmth that didn’t gel with the kind of warmth and passion he felt blistering inside. It had been so different that first night alone when he had looked out at the city all lit up with potential, purple fading to navy blue and then from blue to ink black as the dark of night crept over London and lights blinked on all over. Everything twinkled and glowed yellowish-white with a few spots of red or green over bars or different buildings.  Harry had heard the soft sounds of an acoustic song being performed at the pub down the street and had savoured the sweet sound of a couple bidding each other goodnight from below, an incorruptible and attractive innocence to the way the woman giggled and the man seemingly kissed the sound off her lips, collecting it in the swell of his own. The night sky had hung over the city’s towers, proud and formidable in its darkness even as it had whispered of a bountiful and erotic form of magic. The swell of its pale faced moon and the wispy streams of starlight that accompanied it had set the stage for romance and debauchery with equal measure. In reality, those stars were worlds away but when Harry had gazed at them through the lens of his camera that night, pressed up as close to the window as the window sill would allow, they had felt unequivocally close. The stars and everything they symbolised.

 

Watching Louis lose himself to sensation had truly been akin to that first taste of freedom that he’d felt back then. Louis himself is a caged animal scampering away from Duncan’s less than gentle touch. Seeing him let go completely, similar to the way he does when he giggles or smiles, all crinkly eyes and soft lips…it had been an awe inspiring experience. It had filled Harry with a deeper reverence for the beautiful, lost boy in his arms. He had fallen so very deeply when Louis’ body shuddered and twitched as he breathed out all the darkness within, his hot come seeping through to Harry’s leg and making Harry’s own cock twitch actively between his legs. However it had been Louis’ moment. It had been about Louis’ orgasm and Harry only had to force himself to imagine Niall in Louis’ place and his dick had softened immediately. Louis hadn’t even noticed his raging arousal.

 

By the same token, Harry had gotten a hold of Louis’ heart, cupping the tiny, fractured pieces in his hands and keeping them safe as Louis threw himself into each movement. When the guilt and abhorrence at his own behaviour had overwhelmed him, Harry had convinced Louis that a moment of carelessness wasn’t something to feel shame about. It had worried him that Louis might have felt some sense of betrayal to Duncan, his abuser but Harry had quietened his anxious mind in favour of simply making Louis feel better. He had felt Louis' heart, raw and open in his hand as it quivered with the weight of all the pressure it had yet to shake and all the forces battering it from the outside that it could not yet quite triumph over. Harry smoothed his thumbs over the ripped and tattered edges and leaned close, lips at the crevice that had begun to open with a gaping wound. "You'll make it through, little one," he had whispered, imagining the magnificence of the moment that Louis would start to stitch his heart back together and heal from within. He'd thought of that Ed Sheeran song, the one about fireflies or something or other...." _little one, lie with me."_

 

Lie with him, Louis had, even after what happened in the shower and his resounding guilt. He'd begged Harry to stay and it had to have meant something, if only that Louis needed him in a way he hadn't until now. Harry can't ruin it now…not with one quick, wet orgasm released against Louis' thigh. Harry knows that it would run shaking through his system and throw everything into that beautiful state of chaos that you seem to get right before the world either rights itself or implodes. Harry’s just not ready to risk the world imploding. He doesn't want Louis to wake up with come drying on his leg and inside his briefs and be correct in thinking that Harry was too damn far gone to even wait for him to be conscious. _No_. Harry is not Duncan and will not take what Louis is not ready or does not want to give.  
  
Instead, he cups Louis' hips, pressing his thumbs to the backs of them as he squeezes gently and massages the soft skin there. He pulls Louis off his body and Louis only whines for a moment so Harry considers it success. Never mind the fact that he wants to kiss the needy noise off Louis' lips. Never mind the fact that he’s a fanciful sap that wants to whisper in Louis’ ear, " _I'm right here baby. I'm not leaving. I just can't bear to touch you like this when it's not your heart that I'm also brushing up against_."  
  
Harry gets up and pulls the doona over Louis, still situated on his stomach, his quiet breaths transitioning into  similarly quiet whistle-like noises that aren’t quite snores. It's adorable. Worse… or better still, is the way Louis' chestnut hair fans out over Harry's pillow, covering his neck completely so that it’s all that's visible above the coverlet.  He looks so at home in Harry's bed, his limbs stretched out in all directions and his cheeks pushed up against Harry's sheets.

 

 Harry doesn't know when he decided it was okay to fall for the guy next door. In fact, he's pretty sure he never did but looking down at Louis, swaddled in _his_ blankets, at home in _his_ sheets, and adorably splayed out across _his_ bed...Harry knows it's a lost cause. He runs his hand from the crown of Louis head down to his lower back, covered by the softness of doona. He leaves the heavy weight of his hand in the dip of Louis' back as Louis' back arches and he moves into the touch. _Is he awake?_ Louis sighs and it's so breathy, equal parts despairing and contented. Then, he lets out another quiet whistle through his nose and sinks back down into the sheets as Harry smiles gently, his eyelashes dusting his cheeks while he gazes fondly at the back of Louis' head. An adoring idiot if he ever he saw one.  
  
"Sweet dreams little one," he whispers, rubbing Louis' back, "I promise I'll be right here when you wake."  
  
Harry wobbles into the kitchen and starts assembling breakfast for the two of them. His mind, however, is so full of Louis; his soft, sweet scent, his tiny lips pursed in a smile, his head thrown back in ecstasy...that he can't seem to sustain any level of concentration. He smashes the cupboard door into his knee when he opens it to retrieve the frying pan and then bangs his head on the bench on his way up, dropping the fry pan on the tiles with a loud metallic clang that echoes through the flat. Harry can't believe that Louis doesn't wake but alas, Harry stands there for a minute, frozen, with no signs of life from the hall before continuing with his task. When a knock sounds at his door, Harry's already laid the buttered toast out on two plates, fried the eggs and bacon to perfection and is just waiting for the water for Louis’ tea to boil.  
  
"Ouch, dammit," he curses as he slams his foot into the leg of the dining room table on his way to the door.  
  
He really needs to learn to multitask better…to master the art of daydreaming and working at the same time. Why can't he envision drawing silly giggles out of Louis' mouth with a few well-placed kisses without completely losing sight of what he's doing in the real world? Harry shakes his own idiocy off and then unlocks the latch on his door, swinging it open to reveal Liam, Zayn and Niall all wearing varying expressions of worry.  
  
Liam looks the worst of course, his hands bent around his head as if he had gone to scrunch his hair and then forgotten he no longer had any. His watery brown eyes hold so much love for the man in Harry's bed and so much intense anxiety that Harry has to wonder how Liam went from being Louis' personal trainer to his unintended protector and best mate. Why was it so difficult for Louis to let Harry in when for all intents and purposes, it seems like Liam had never had any trouble? Then again, when Louis wanted somewhere to stay he hadn't gone to Liam, he hadn't gone to Taylor and he _could_ have. They would both accept him and have welcomed him with open arms, Harry is sure of that. Yet Louis’ tangled up in _his_ sheets, in _his_ bed, seemingly happier to be there than anywhere else.

 

Liam looks like Zayn dressed him against his better wishes. He’s wearing a grey turtle neck that’s much too tight for him and looks ridiculous on his muscled physique and has paired it with coal black jeans that are folded up at the hems, obviously meant for Zayn’s ridiculously long, model perfect legs. There’s a bright green lighter tucked into one of the front pockets of his trousers and the button at the top isn’t done up, his fly half zipped. Liam’s eyes look red and puffy from lack of sleep or something a little worse and he looks awfully pale and Zayn’s concern is directed entirely Liam’s way as he lays a heavy palm across the top of Liam’s shoulder blades and then transfers his gaze to Harry. His hazel eyes turn softer with a blatant plea. Then there’s Niall, standing just behind the two of them with a bulging backpack slung over his shoulders and a hesitant, un-Niall like frown that makes Harry frown too.

 

“What are you guys doing here?” Harry asks them with confusion.

 

It can’t be more than nine or ten in the morning and yet this trio of despair has rocked up to his flat like Harry had hand delivered hand written invites. It’s not that Harry isn’t used to unexpected drop ins, what with Niall being virtually homeless and Zayn often needing somewhere to take refuge when he inevitably has another pointless, petty argument with his bitch of a roommate. It’s just that Zayn and Niall tend to turn up separately, Zayn with half his wardrobe in an expensive suitcase and his signature cigarettes tucked into his pocket and Niall with his guitar slung over his shoulder carrying some drinks and as much food as he’s managed to pay for with his busking. Harry is not used to Zayn turning up with his puppy eyed, sullen face boyfriend and a downright sombre Niall in tow, with no trace of gel in his hair and a plea in his eyes that seems to say, “if you don’t let us in we’re going to have anarchy right here, right now.”

 

“Harry,” Liam says and his voice barely reaches a decibel loud enough for Harry to hear it, “I need to see him.”

 

“Um-“

 

“H,” Zayn reaches out and grips his shoulder, eyes intent, “he tried to give him space. Knew Louis probably wasn’t up to seeing people but he hasn’t slept. Just let us in yeah?”

 

“I mean yeah, you can come in…”  


Liam barrels right past him, Zayn hot on his tail but Niall stands shyly in the entrance, not moving as he adjusts the straps on his shoulders and his blue eyes flicker with uncertainty. He looks so young suddenly and Harry stops twisting his lip pensively in order to pull Niall inside the flat, tugging him into a forceful hug.

 

“You okay Nialler?” he whispers.

 

Niall pulls back with his arms still around Harry’s waist and grins crookedly but he still looks unusually off balance.

 

“I just can’t believe…is he okay?” Niall swallows hard, “Louis’ just so tiny. When Zayn told me, I kept thinking of this Duncan guy pummelling into him and-“Harry cringes along with Niall, “I just…I’ve never know anybody who was abused before. It makes me sick Haz.”

 

Harry takes the bag off Niall’s shoulder and puts it down by the back of the couch where Zayn and Liam sit, Liam curled up against Zayn’s side as Zayn pets his hair and soothes him with a soft tone, whispering things that Harry can’t quite hear.

 

“That’s just some DVD’s, some games, snacks… you know,” Niall gestures half-heartedly at the bag and then shakes his head, eyes on the ground, “probably pretty meaningless, hey? It’s just…I was staying at Ashton’s and I just took whatever he’d let me. I didn’t know what…you know I don’t know Louis from a bar of soap but-“

 

“Hey,” Harry says, rubbing his palms up and down Niall’s shoulders.

 

Niall looks up just to raise a curious eyebrow at him. Harry ignores it. They might be touchy feely but not like this. Harry might have gotten a little too used to being around Louis who doesn’t seem to find his intimate touches at all strange. Louis, who seems to welcome his touch.

 

“Hey,” Harry repeats, squeezing Niall’s shoulders. That’s more like it, a little more platonic. “That was real good of you Ni. He’ll like that. I know it’s hard to think about…and maybe it’s harder for you to know how to deal with it when you know him even less than I do but this is good,” Harry gestures at the bag, “this is the best thing you could have done. No fuss, just good food and entertainment. I think he likes being taken care of…he just doesn’t quite know how to admit it sometimes.”

 

Niall rolls his eyes and there’s a genuine smirk on his lips now which lifts Harry’s spirits too. Seeing Niall all cut up about Louis was touching but more so unsettling. Harry suspects Niall was laughing and anticipating his fist pint even as a tiny Irish peanut lying about his mum’s stomach. Niall was only ever meant for sunshine and lazy Sunday jams with his muso mates.

 

“What?” Harry says, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

“I’m fairly certain he just likes being taken care of by _you_ ,” Niall says with emphasis, “and doesn’t quite know how to admit it. Wonder why that is H.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry says with a reasonably straight face.

 

Niall chuckles and mutters something that sounds like “forty minutes of fondness” but it makes no sense to Harry so he just shakes his head and then moves to the couch, sitting down across from Liam and Zayn.

 

“Can I see him?” Liam asks, raising his head from Zayn’s shoulder to look at Harry with bleary brown eyes.

 

Zayn continues to pet the top of his head, with an arm curled tightly around his shoulders and Liam truly does look ever so vulnerable. His voice is thick and deep with sadness and his throat sounds blocked up with the pressure of holding back his emotions and perhaps even his tears. It’s incomprehensible that Louis could end up with such a tool for a boyfriend but such a sweetheart for a best mate.

 

“He’s sleeping,” Harry reveals and Liam’s face drops, Zayn glaring at Harry for something that is frankly not one bit his fault, “but I was just about to bring him his breakfast. You could take it in for me.”

 

Liam covers a tiny, relieved hiccup with an overly deep and exaggerated cough. Zayn smiles sadly down at him and presses a kiss to the side of his face. Harry might be a bit choked up just watching. Niall’s sat down beside him, with Harry’s breakfast in his lap, consuming it at rapid pace but he grins around a mouthful of buttery toast and Harry can’t help but grin back. This is his family, right here in this flat. These boys and Gem, that’s it for him. Zayn has always been like a brother, Niall, his saving grace and now there’s Louis and Liam too. Liam who, let’s face it, was always going to win Harry over with his concern for Louis. Liam, with the heart of gold which now belongs to Zayn, who deserves that kind of love in his life more than anyone Harry knows, the only exception being the bruised and broken man sleeping soundly just down the hall. Louis deserves all the love in the world and it occurs to Harry in this moment that he has an abundance of it sitting right here, between these four walls.

 

“You’ll be right with him babe,” Zayn soothes, his arm drifting down to squeeze Liam’s waist, “Lou’ll be happy to see your handsome face.”

 

Liam and Zayn share a nauseatingly, deep kiss that involves a kind of disgusting slurping noise. Harry’s a little ashamed to note he knows exactly how Zayn kisses, sucking guys’ tongues between his teeth like some kind of cannibal. Still, it’s hypnotising the way they melt into each other. It’s like sunlight fading gently into darkness on a warm, summery day or lush green leaves slowly transitioning into that gorgeous golden-brown with the onset of autumn. There’s something about every touch that is decidedly intimate and precious. Harry has the gall to wonder if it looks anything like that when he and Louis touch, as platonic as it remains.

 

“There’s a tray under the sink,” Harry directs with a patient smile, “and the water’s just boiled so you can do his tea.”

 

Liam smiles right back and then gets up to leave. Before he does, he leans down and gathers Harry in a close hug, whispering in his ear as he does.

 

“Thank you,” he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me see him…or worse, _he_ wouldn’t let me.”

 

Harry nods against Liam’s shoulder.

 

“Just don’t go in there and like--“

 

“I know,” Liam cuts him off, voice firm as he pulls away, “trust me…I know.”

 

Harry nods and then sets about ignoring the longing he has to kick the boys out and go curl up with Louis in bed, sleeping the day away and pretending that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

 

…….

 

“Tommo. Hey, Louis….Lou, you awake?”

 

Louis’ eyes make a strangely loud clicking noise as he opens them. His right eye burns and feels heavy as he cracks it open. The sensation is confusing at first and his face creases up with uncertainty as he ignores the big brown eyes peering at his face and tries to come to terms with why he feels like something must have slammed into his stomach and dug into his neck. _Duncan._

_I want you to see the evidence of shame on your skin for weeks_

 

Louis doesn’t whimper or let out any noise but his breath gets shorter for a moment and his eyes prickle with rising hurt. The only thing that stops the tears from brimming over is Liam’s eyes boring into his own as he lifts Louis’ pillow up into a standing position and waits for Louis to pull himself up before nudging a large tray into his lap. There’s a plate housing some lightly buttered toast with crispy bacon and eggs cooked sunny side up, the way he likes them. There’s also a steaming cup of tea poured into a mug that says “TEA ME UP” with a picture of a golf ball printed on the side. It’s dorky, daggy and everything Louis expects of Harry and his terrible sense of humour. It’s somewhat comforting. _You’re with Harry_ , he reminds himself, _and you’re safe here._

 

“Hey,” Liam says, repeating his greeting as Louis brings the mug to his lips.

 

“Did you-“Louis starts to ask, gesturing to the plate with his chin as he puts the mug down.

 

“No,’ Liam cuts him off, tilting his head toward the closed door with a gentle smile on his face, “it was Harry. He’s…he’s really something you know.”

 

“I know,” Louis agrees, his tone thick with contained emotion.

 

He takes another long sip of his tea and then shoves a forkful of bacon in his mouth. It’s delicious, so delicious he moans aloud and sinks back into the pillow.

 

“Good?” Liam asks with a soft, amused quirk of his lips.

 

Louis’ reply is to shove more food in his mouth, making sure to compile toast, egg and bacon on his fork this time before practically inhaling the impeccably cooked mouthful.

 

“You eat, I’ll talk?” Liam offers.

 

“Why are you even here?” Louis asks in response, crumbs flying as his face creases up with confusion.

 

Liam frowns and then his brown eyes flash with rejection and hurt. Louis reaches out to grip his bicep through his shirt, rubbing his thumb over the firm bulge in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

 

“I’m sorry Li,” he says quietly, “you know I didn’t mean- I was just asking because--“

 

Liam unexpectedly chuckles and then motions for Louis to continue inhaling his food, which he does, almost without pause. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in years.

 

“No, don’t apologise. Just me being an oversensitive idiot,” Liam shakes his head, self-deprecating, “and taking everything way too personal as always. I’m only here cause well…I was worried about you Tommo,” Liam’s eyes seemingly deepen with feeling and he watches Louis’ chew slowly with a furrowed brow, “and I know you hate that. I know you don’t want me here telling you… _whatever_ and making a big deal. I know Harry now…I know he’s a lot better with you than me,” Liam takes a laboured breath and he looks so cut up that Louis swallows hard, his eyes tingling, “and I’m just so damn sorry Lou. I’m sorry I’ve been too demanding… too judgemental. I was never there for you enough like you needed and--“

 

“Liam, god Liam,” Louis swallows another mouthful and then settles the tray down on the bedside table. He reaches out for Liam and tugs the larger man into his arms, “this is not your fault. It’s not Harry’s fault…I wish everybody would just stop fucking blaming themselves for my--for his mistakes. Please Li, please don’t think that just because we have a different friendship to mine and Harry’s…that it’s not good enough or something… that _you’re_ not good enough.”

 

Liam’s palm is spread across the back of Louis’ hair, squeezing his head gently and as the heel of his hand presses over one of Louis’ sore spots, Louis winces and sucks in his breath. Liam pulls back with wide, worried eyes.

 

“Lou? Fuck. Louis, I’m so sorry. Did he…did he really hurt you that bad?” Liam’s voice shakes as he reaches up to trace Louis’ bruised eye with the tip of his finger, “he really did get you bad, didn’t he?

 

Louis avoids Liam’s sorrowful eyes, threading Harry’s doona through his fingers as he traces the outside of the dark bedspread with his eyes. He shrugs sadly because that’s all he can manage. The truth is that Louis didn’t know how much Liam loved him, not until just now when Liam’s eyes zeroed in on his face like he couldn’t bear to catalogue the extent of the damage but had to know just the same. It was like Liam had to know just how bad things had gotten in order to find a way to fix them. Not that Liam could…fix this, that is. There’s only person who can seal the wounds permanently and that person is in a whole other damn country.

 

“I’m just…” Liam breathes out like he might be trying to steady himself, his tone hardening with determination, “I never thought he’d go this far. I worried but I never really thought--and I never thought of how awful it would be _not_ to _know_ …because I didn’t know,” Louis looks up at Liam whose eyes are locked in a state of unrelenting anguish and nightmarish terror that he can’t escape, “I didn’t know if you were--because Harry…he was with you and he called Zayn but he-- he barely said anything. And Louis… I know how we’ve always been, you know… like two brothers, ribbing each other and teasing, calling each other out on bullshit or a shit workout and the like…but I want you to know…I want you to know that I’m here,” Liam grabs one of his hands and squeezes it, his fingers covering Louis’ smaller ones easily as his voice turns rough and ragged. “I’m always here if you want more than a trainer and a no nonsense best mate. I’m here if you just want to watch chick flicks or paint each other’s nails or have a cuddle-“

 

“Liam,” Louis interrupts quietly.

                                                      

Liam sniffs and then uses his free hand to bat away his tears, looking up at Louis with embarrassment clear in the set of his wobbly mouth. Louis has never felt so lucky to have this ripped, puppy eyed PT as his best mate.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Liam’s voice wobbles and he looks down to his lap as his breath gets caught in his chest and he accidentally lets out a choked kind of sob.

 

“I love you yeah?”

 

Liam’s eyes shoot up to Louis’ and his eyes fill with tears that he doesn’t wipe away.

 

“I love you too,” he says, “I was so scared.”

 

“C’mon then,” Louis says softly, patting the spot beside him. “What do I have to do to get some love around here Payno?”

 

Liam chuckles wetly and then climbs under the doona beside Louis, pulling Louis into his arms instantly. Somehow it’s not awkward, inappropriate or any of the things Louis would have assumed it would be given that they’ve never done anything of the sort before nor scarcely hung out outside of the gym. Eventually they do pull back a bit, falling on their backs beside each other with their hands still tangled in the middle.

 

“I think I’m in love with Zayn,” Liam groans, his eyes flicking over to Louis to note his response.

 

Louis smirks at him.

 

“What was that you were saying to me a few months back Payno? “ _I’m never going to meet anybody Louis. I’m going to die alone in a pool of my own sweat on this very gym floor_ ,” he mocks.

 

“Oh shut it,” Liam snaps.

 

Louis cracks a bigger, toothier smile. This is what he loves about them, that he could be on his death bed and completely overwhelmed by disease and Liam still wouldn’t be able to keep from bickering with him.

 

“I’m guessing you haven’t told him.”

 

Liam shakes his head and then sighs despairingly.

 

“I’m still a coward.”

 

Louis reaches across with the back of his free hand and lightly smacks his shoulder.

 

“You’re not a coward,” he says with conviction but then…”however I know just how to solve this problem. He’s in the flat right now, isn’t he?” Liam’s silence confirms his suspicions and so Louis raises his voice to a yodel, “oh Zaaaaayn. Liam--”

 

Liam rolls onto his side and claps his hand over Louis’ mouth, muffling the rest of Louis’ sentence as Louis chuckles into his skin, his bruised stomach contracting a little painfully as he does. He wouldn’t have actually called it out but it’s amusing enough to fuck with Liam that Louis doesn’t feel the need to reveal his pure intentions. When the door falls open with a loud creak, the two of them are rolling around on the bed with Liam’s hand firmly clamped over Louis’ mouth and Louis using the strength of both of his arms to try to remove it, laughing raucously into Liam’s palm all the while.

 

“Are you rolling around my best friend’s bed with my boyfriend?” Zayn enquires with a dangerous lilt to his tone.

 

Liam and Louis halt their movement, Liam hovering over him with his hand still covering Louis’ mouth and his eyes full of almost as much humour as Louis’. Before either Louis or Liam can deny it, Harry jumps in with panicked green eyes that bore into Louis’ face with concern.

 

“No,” he says hotly, his tone incensed, “your boyfriend is bloody suffocating him. What the hell Liam? Does he look like he’s in a good state to wrestle?”

 

Liam takes his hand from Louis’ mouth and then rolls to the side, his whole face crumpling with guilt. Louis grabs for his hand and looks back at Harry with anger. He’s just about to give it to him when Niall steps out from behind Harry and Zayn and gives Louis a little wave. He looks just a touch nervous, bitting his bottom lip and shifting from foot to foot. However when he speaks, there’s an authority and cheeriness in his voice that instantly warms the whole room up by several degrees.

 

“Lads, I suggest we all chill the fuck out. Louis, stop making poor Zayn and Harry sweat with jealousy and worry,” he orders, being noticeably and perhaps intentionally vague about who might be feeling what. Louis catches the faint blush on Harry’s cheeks before Harry ducks his head down letting his curls form a kind of curtain that blocks the patchy pink from view. “Liam, stop feeling guilty because Louis looks as happy as I am when I’m pissed or ‘ave had a good feed. Harry, give the guy a break and Zayn…you just keep doing what you’re doing because you are purr-fect. Possessive looks good on you Z. Adorable really.”

 

Niall reaches out and  pinches Zayn’s hip which makes Zayn squeak and jump sideways, his perfectly coiffed hair flopping down over one eye as a comical maddened expression fills his features.

 

“You fucker,” he swears, smacking Niall over the back of the head, his floppy fringe still swaying across his eyes, “you’ve ruined my hair.”

 

Niall doesn’t respond at first and the other three boys wait for it, watching him with bated breath. After a moment, he shrugs, a full grin taking up half the space on his face.

 

“Looks better that way.”

 

Zayn’s mouth falls open and his eyebrows draw together with offense. Liam is the first one to chuckle, Louis following suit a second later. Harry looks between Niall, glowing with triumph and Zayn, pouting grumpily and bursts into laughter too.

 

“Leeeyum,” Zayn whines, turning and crawling up the bed sheets to his boyfriend, “Leeyum, don’t laugh.”

 

Liam just drags Zayn up to the spot beside him and runs his fingers through Zayn’s soft fringe.

 

“Sorry babe,” he says with a chuckle, “but you do look adorable without the quiff.”

 

Louis squawks amusedly as Zayn starts pin wheeling his fists at Liam and Liam catches them every time, kissing Zayn’s knuckles which only seems to further ignite his rage. Harry catches Louis’ eye, his smiling stretching wide and his twitching dimples set so deep in his face that Louis kind of just wants to press his thumbs to them and feel them shiver.

 

“I’ll get the movies,” Niall announces loudly.

 

“Movies?” Louis says with high hopes and a blinding smile.

 

Niall smiles kindly back at him but Louis wonders at the quick exchange of looks between him and Harry, Harry’s smile slightly smug while Niall’s is just this side of blindingly proud and perhaps a touch chuffed.

 

“Yeah, I brought some stuff,” he tells Louis, “I say we watch a flick and cuddle in Harry’s bed. How bout it?”

 

Zayn’s fists fall either side of Liam’s head with defeat and he ducks down to kiss Liam’s lips, before turning his head to grin at Niall.

 

“Sounds perfect Nialler.”

 

“I second that notion,” Louis agrees with a grin, “no clients for me today.”

 

“I agree,” Harry says with a genuine smile and then turns to wink at Louis, “but only on the condition that Zayn and Liam agree not to snog each other senseless in my bed.”

 

Louis chuckles and Harry beams at him.

 

“No promises,” Liam calls out from beneath Zayn, pulling him down by the neck for a sloppier sounding kiss.

 

When Niall returns with the breakfast club, the four of them are already snuggled down in the bed together. Liam and Zayn have switched positions now, Zayn sitting up against the wall with Liam between his legs, their bodies impossibly tangled. Harry and Louis are positioned much the same way but only to make room for Niall of course, Louis settling back against Harry’s chest as he pointedly ignores the other boys’ eyes on them. Niall puts the DVD on and then crawls onto the bed, lying down sideways with his head in Liam’s lap and his feet in Louis’. Louis tickles his toes and Niall laughs deeply and then pushes his smelly feet into Louis’ face.

 

“Get them away,” Louis whines dramatically, his whole face creased with an amused smile.

 

Harry reaches around and pushes Niall’s feet away _for_ him and then he moves his hand to cover Louis’ where it rests against his stomach. Louis thanks god that the other boys’ eyes are trained on the TV screen as Harry interlocks their fingers, squeezing Louis’ hand before stretching their hands back out, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against Louis’ stomach in the spaces between Louis’ own, as his jumper rides up to expose his skin.

 

“This okay?” Harry whispers in his ear, drumming his fingers against Louis’ bare stomach in order to emphasise his point.

 

Louis’ heart shivers in his chest and his body breaks out in goose bumps and heat because it’s _too_ okay. All Harry has to do is fit his fingers to the spaces in between Louis’ to destroy him completely and it’s most certainly _not_ okay. It’s all wrong. He’s not supposed to feel so alive with somebody else’s touch…but he can feel Harry’s thighs tense around his waist as he waits for an answer. His legs draw up and away from Louis’ body and the rest of him leans back too, keeping his distance. That’s not what Louis wants. Not one bit. He grips Harry’s thighs, guiding them back to their former position and then slides his hand beneath Harry’s once more. With an unsteady breath, he moves their conjoined hands up and down over his stomach, hating the way it makes his blood sing but loving it almost just as much.

 

“It’s okay,” he sighs, “don’t fret Haz.”

 

Harry’s other arm encircles him and pulls him in closer so his back is pressed flush against Harry’s front. Louis’ heartbeat speeds up tenfold.

 

“I can feel your heartbeat in your tummy,” Harry whispers, splaying their fingers out over Louis’ skin to cover half his hip and his belly button.

 

Louis doesn’t even know how that’s possible but he suspects that Harry must feel the butterflies streaming through his stomach, singing their own tune and making it impossible for him to think straight or focus on the screen before him. Harry moves Louis’ hands with his own this time, rubbing Louis’ stomach with the tips of his fingers.

 

“You have the sweetest tummy,” Harry breathes, “sweet, just like you.”

 

Louis closes his eyes and pretends the words don’t go right to the centre of his chest, screwing with his access to oxygen and making him feel completely boneless with feeling. When he opens them, he focuses on his surroundings instead. Freeing one of his hands from beneath Harry’s, he reaches out for Liam who grabs his fingers and squeezes them, a watery smile on his face as he knocks his head back against Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn looks down in surprise and then his eyes fall to Liam and Louis’ fingers twined together on the bed. It seems his jealousy has taken a backseat because he simply runs his hand across the top of Liam’s shaved head and softly kisses the side of his face, smiling down at him with what Louis thinks is nothing short of love. More amazing still is the smile that he spares for Louis and the compassionate, kind look in his eyes that seems to say, “He loves you and I’m happy for it.”  Niall looks up at Liam and Zayn, somehow sensing the interplay of emotions around him and grins happily enough at the lips pressed to Liam’s temple.

 

“Thank you,” Louis says out of the blue, his throat extraordinarily dry but his tone still wet with somehow emotion. The other boys look back at him, all wearing varying expressions of love and support, “thank you all.”

 

None of them say a word but Niall keeps his grin, Zayn, his dopey, contented smile and Harry and Liam both squeeze his hands tightly. Louis’ heart thumps unevenly in his chest. Everything is in tatters but somehow he feels like he just came home. The lump in his throat says that even when he lay gasping for breath on the floor of his flat, certain Duncan would destroy every last vestige of hope and happiness inside, he wasn’t alone. He had felt stranded, trapped and all kinds of lost as his head swam. He hadn’t been able to find enough reasons to cling to consciousness but lying here with these boys, _his_ boys, he hears a resounding, soothing voice in his head reminding him softly fo what he should have already know. _You were never on your own_ , it chides, _and the proof is in this bed._

 

……..

 

“Harry.”

 

Louis pushes Harry up against the kitchen bench, the tips of his thumbs pressed to Harry’s hip bones as Harry looks down at him with curious green eyes. The other boys had left around ten minutes ago but Harry hadn’t cuddled Louis close like Louis had expected and perhaps, as much as he hates to admit it, the way he wanted. Instead, Harry had muttered something about doing the dishes and had lifted Louis’ tray up into his arms and hurried off to the kitchen, leaving a stunned and frankly sullen Louis behind him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Harry looks far too cautious as he shifts to the side and away from Louis’ fingers, busying himself with wiping down the counter. Harry regrets it. _He regrets ever touching me the way he did_. Louis swallows down his original question, the “is there something wrong?” which had been on the edge of his lips when he stumbled into the kitchen moments ago.

 

“I want to go to New York. I…ah, I need to end it. Properly.”

 

Harry’s hand stills on the cloth and he whips around to face Louis with a stormy expression flaring in his green eyes, the bridge of his nose scrunched up with tension as he pinches it between his fingers.

 

“Why?”

 

Louis’ breath comes quick as Harry leans over him.

 

“Because…because it’s been three years and I need…I need closure Harry,” Harry’s hands come down on his shoulders and Louis jumps, quivering slightly, “Harry, _please_ …” he says plaintively, his shuddering breath ghosting out over his bottom lip.

 

Harry’s eyes widen convulsively and then he releases Louis immediately but his hands come up to frame Louis’ cheeks instead.

 

“Louis?” He says gently, like he’s calling Louis back from the darkest part of the woods and dragging him out of his nightmares, “Louis, you didn’t think I’d-“ he swallows, his eyes wet and glassy, “you weren’t actually afraid of me just now, were you? Please tell me you don’t think I’m like-“

 

“Like him?” Louis finishes and Harry looks truly horrified. “No, _god_ no,” Louis assures him, “I just…you looked so angry and the last time someone looked at me like _that_ …”

 

Louis chokes on the truth of his own fear. Harry’s thumbs brush over the frown lines surrounding his eyes and then drift down, his hands tenderly cupping the base of Louis’ neck.

 

“Tilt your head back.”

 

Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Why?”

 

Harry’s green eyes bore into his with just the right mix of need and endearing innocence as he pulls his bottom lip back through his teeth.

 

“Please.”

 

Louis’ head knocks awkwardly against the space between his shoulders as he tilts it back as far as it will go but Harry’s hands reposition his head at a higher angle so his neck isn’t strained. Then the insides of his fingers press gently against the back of Louis’ neck while his thumbs skate up and across the lines of Louis’ throat to his jaw.

 

“What are you doing?” Louis’ rough voice asks as Harry’s soft thumbs continue to trail the same lines across the sides of his jaw, whispering against the softness of his skin and making Louis’ eyelashes flutter closed upon his cheeks.

 

“You have a lovely throat,” Louis’ breath rises and then gets stuck in his chest as Harry’s thumbs slide down the central lines of his neck, “and a lovely jaw,” he presses his thumbs to Louis’ face, just below his ears, “but you’re so tense,” he rubs his thumbs tenderly against the sensitive spot, “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not of me, not of somebody’s anger…and not of him. If you need--” Harry gently squeezes his cheeks, “if you need to see him one last time, then I get that.”

 

Louis tilts his head back up, his eyes widening with shock as they reopen.

 

“…but I’m coming with you.”

 

 _No_. Louis’ heart knocks against the inside of his chest. Harry can’t be there, not when Louis needs to try to pick up the pieces and make things right. Harry can’t be there to see Louis submit. Louis doesn’t know how to make these two worlds fit, his life with Duncan and this safe space with Harry, that is…but he wants to try. He wants so very badly to have both, to have his cake and eat it too. His heart strains at the thought that he can’t.

 

“Harry-“

 

“No Louis,” Harry shuts him down, turning sideways to lean back against the bench, “I’m not letting you go alone. No way. It can be me,” Harry sighs and his knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the bench, “or it can be someone else. Liam or Taylor or…someone. Just, _please_. You can’t go see him alone.”

 

“Why?” Louis asks, his voice small and sad.

 

Harry turns to face him once more, this time pushing Louis up against the bench, his wrists angular, frail wrists enclosed in Harry’s hands. Harry’s thumbs brush over his pulse points and then continue on to his palms. He squeezes Louis’ hands tight and then stares at them for a moment, seemingly caught in a daze as his apple green eyes go translucent.

 

“I thought your hands, your tiny hands…” Louis sighs, only slightly annoyed but Harry doesn’t seem to hear it, sliding his fingers through the gaps in Louis’ and interlocking their hands together in the process, “I thought I’d never feel their warmth like this again.”

 

Louis' voice sounds ragged at best, a quiet croak that barely makes any sound at all.  
  
"Harry."  
  
"No, Louis listen. You don't know how difficult it was...to walk in and see you-" Harry's breath hitches in a half-sob and his eyebrows push down against the lids of his eyes with shame for his outpouring of emotion, "I thought you were dead."  
  
"You can come with me Haz."  
  
Louis finds himself saying the words without a thought for the repercussions. How can he convince Duncan of his sincerity with Harry in tow? How can they move past what happened with a reminder of it standing right beside them? Somehow all of the potential consequences dissipate completely in light of Harry's expression; so full with pent up anxiety. Harry wants to keep him close and Louis can't find it in himself to want anything but to be kept close.  
  
Harry looks up with watery eyes, wet eyelashes blinking fast against his cheekbones and trailing half-moons of shimmering liquid beneath his eyes in the process. There's a similar sheen of wetness over his full bottom lip, drawing Louis' eye and making him bite down a touch too hard on his own.  
  
"You're sure?" Harry asks, abruptly less demanding in response to Louis’ submission.  
  
Louis smiles gently and tugs on Harry's hands with his own.  
  
"So long as you remember you're my friend… not my guard dog," Louis says with a wink.  


Harry's frown returns and he rubs across the backs of Louis' fingers with increasing urgency.  
  
"I just want to protect you."  
  
"I know babe," Louis assures him and Harry grips his hands in response, his eyes shooting up to Louis', "but I'll be okay. You don't need to be so anxious love."  
  
The words feel better in his mouth than they do out of it, half-truths covered by sweet sentiments that he doesn't want to take back. Truthfully, he doesn't want Harry to be afraid for him but when all's said and done, he knows he can't be certain that he'll be okay...not in the way Harry expects him to be.  
  
Harry nods and Louis watches him swallow, the bob of his throat kind of obscene when paired with the way he looks up from beneath his curly eyelashes and smiles, dimples looming.  
  
"Gorgeous," Louis breathes out against his better judgement.  
  
A bemused expression crosses Harry's face as he shakes his head, his nose crinkling. He looks like a confused puppy…a poodle maybe, with the way his curls tickle his ears, so soft looking. Louis' hands reach out and find the ends of them, halting the endearing movement of Harry’s head by scrunching them between his fingers.  
  
"What did you say?" Harry questions with a half-smile.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Harry opens his mouth to protest but Louis stretches his fingers out, sliding his hands through the soft curls and scratching along Harry’s scalp. Harry's mouth gets stuck, half open and he hums contentedly in his throat. When Louis removes his hands, Harry pouts with closed eyes and makes a snuffling noise like a disgruntled puppy. Louis' fond smile might just light up the entirety of the flat.  
  
"Time to pack babe."  
  
Harry sighs exaggeratedly but his cheeks twitch and the corners of his lips lift as he opens his eyes and gazes at Louis.  
  
"I like it when you call me that," he says softly.  
  
Louis tries not to let his own mouth reflect the swell of Harry's smile but when Harry spots the crinkles by his eyes, his own mouth sky rockets higher and it's a hopeless endeavour for Louis to resist smiling back. They stand there, smiling dopily at each other for all of a minute before Louis coughs and steps backward.  
  
"I should pack go," Harry's eyebrows jump, a smirk covering his mouth as Louis rushes to correct himself, his skin turning rosy pink, "I mean go pack!"  
  
"Okay," Harry says, still smirking.  
  
A beat later as Louis turns away, Harry's concerned voice calls out to him.  
  
"Want me to come with? To your flat?"  
  
Louis' fingers tremble a little as he remembers the day before and the barrage of cumbersome images that threatened to swallow him whole. Today is different, he reminds himself. Today he's had cuddles with four wonderful mates and he's literally on his way to fixing everything with Duncan. His demons don't seem to loom as large and Louis finds himself smiling, wobbly but still certain, as he throws his head back over his shoulder to look at Harry.  
  
"I'm fine. I’ll be fine."  
  
Harry smiles back at him with dazed eyes and then after a moment, he twitches like he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open and someone roused him awake. He shakes his head at himself and then turns away, looking frustrated. Louis doesn't question it. Harry is the definition of a daydreamer .It’s charming really, how he's equal parts self-aware and seemingly lost within his own mind.

 

Louis gets ten feet into his flat before he even notices he's done so, too preoccupied with wondering if Harry was always a daydreamer the way he is now. Louis had gotten caught up wondering whether Harry used to gaze out classroom windows and dream about being out there in the wilderness, capturing it's beauty with his hipster camera. The thought of young Harry with glazed eyes and a dreamy smile on his face, perhaps with his baby sized chin resting in his too-big-for-a-child hand, was too much. Louis had opened his door and stepped into the flat without stopping to look at the spot where he'd lain or the couch where he'd been face fucked beyond what he could handle. Louis nods his approval of himself, to himself now and then travels toward their room, pulling his suitcase from beneath the bed with a sharp tug. Just as he falls onto his bum with a heavy pant, his phone buzzes in his pocket. His eagerness to retrieve it dulls when he finds it's just Taylor. He accepts the call anyway.  
  
"Hey Tay," Louis greets her.  
  
"Babe!" Taylor says immediately, "what have you been up to? I've not spoken to you since I got back from Ibiza with Calvin. I miss your stupidly pretty face."  
  
"Stupidly pretty?" Louis questions, a chuckle surprised out of his mouth.  
  
"It makes the boys stupid," Taylor explains and Louis can hear the smile in her voice, "girls too actually. When I first met you, I definitely thought we'd hook up."  
  
"Ugh," Louis winces as he stands, pulling his wardrobe open to inspect it, "I'm about to throw up my breakfast and I don’t appreciate that. It was rather lovely so I'd like to retain it thanks."  
  
"What did you have for breakfast? Your usual is dry cereal unless Duncan is around. I assume he isn't though because you sound downright cheerful."  
  
Does he?  
  
" _Taylor_."  
  
"Yeah, yeah I know. You love him. He's your everything. You'd be nothing without him," she says in a monotone voice that sounds nothing like Louis’, "but I'm allowed to have my opinion. My opinion is …you can do a lot better babe."  
  
"I had eggs and bacon," Louis says quickly, desperate to change the subject, "Harry made it for me."  
  
There's a clanking sound and then a long silence before Louis hears Taylor picking up the phone again.  
  
"Harry?" She squeaks excitedly, "I knew there was something going on! The way he looked at you when we went out," Taylor pauses for a dramatic, dreamy sigh, "it was gorgeous"  
  
_He_ is gorgeous, a voice sighs in the back of Louis' head. Louis gags his own mind.  
  
"Nothing is going on,” Louis says tightly, “…what were you doing just now?"  
  
"Squealing into my pillow," Taylor says without a hint of shame.  
  
Louis rolls his eyes.  
  
"This is not a rom com and even if it were," Louis breathes out slowly, "Harry would not play my romantic counterpart. He's too..."  
  
"Gorgeous? Charming? Kind? Everything your shit of a boyfriend isn't?"  
  
"He was looking after me," Louis bursts out, the buzzing in his head intensifying as his urge to tell the truth rushes to the surface, "that's why he made me breakfast. I stayed over because...Duncan and I had a falling out," Louis' voice grows quiet, "it didn't end well."  
  
Louis starts assembling more of his things and chucking them in the bag as he waits for a response. His cologne, some briefs and his iPhone charger all land in the bag as his heart begins to pound with fear.  
  
"What do you mean, 'it didn't end well?' Taylor questions, her voice low and worried.

 

“Just…it doesn’t matter,” Louis says distractedly, “he just…it doesn’t matter because I’m going to end it. Today….eh, tonight…when I get to New York.”

 

 _Another lie. Why are you lying to the people you care about? Is he really worth all this? Yes,_ Louis assures himself, _of course he’s worth it. He loves me._

“Good,” Taylor exhales down the phone, “now explain to me _exactly w_ hat you mean by ‘looking after me?’”

 

…….

 

Harry’s phone vibrates against his hip as his hands tremble around the change of clothes he stuffs into his bag. He _knows_. He knows Louis is lying, that is. He had hoped…for perhaps a moment or too that the earnestness in Louis’ voice and his eyes, had been real…but then hadn’t he always known that victims of abuse could be like that? Hadn’t he held the hand of a frail looking, middle aged woman in a homeless shelter a couple of years back as she cried about the ‘terrible boating accident’ that had landed her with the horrific spanning the width of her back and the entirety of her neck? He’d known then and he knew now and there was no way he was going to let Louis go to New York alone… not after what happened. Harry has no idea how much good he will be or whether he even has a hope of keeping Louis from running back into Duncan’s arms if Duncan wants him back to but somehow he will. Somehow he’ll get through to Louis and remind him that he doesn’t deserve to suffer and that he’s so much more than the marks on his skin and the pain in his chest.

 

Harry’s not entirely sure why Louis permitted him to come, given his plans for reconciliation with Duncan but maybe he figured the same thing Harry had at first, that there’d be no stopping him if the two of them wanted to be together. Maybe Louis really was just that moved by the desperation plain on Harry’s face. Either way, the pressure is a pounding headache at Harry’s temples and a tremble in his fingers because if he can’t persuade Louis to walk away this time… he never will and what will become of Louis if he doesn’t? Harry breathes out slowly through his nose, trying not to entertain the thought that Louis could end up in a similar state to that woman, bruised and broken beyond repair, with nothing to lose and yet still clinging to the person who destroyed her sanctity and her life. Harry presses accept on the incoming call and flops back onto his bed.

 

“’lo” he says, passing his hand over his forehead.

 

“Hey baby Styles.”

 

A smile melts across Harry’s mouth as he hears the deep, smoky tones of his sister’s voice.

 

“Hey prisoner,” he chuckles, “how are you?”

 

“Detained, as usual,” she sighs, “being knocked back by all of England’s finest…and not so finest employers on a daily basis.”

 

Harry frowns and then his expression abruptly lightens as a light bulb clicks on overhead.

 

“If you won’t stay with me, at least let me help on the job front. Lou could probably find something for you at the bar. I mean, I know you wouldn’t like working nights but you’d have enough to rent somewhere cheap….I honestly would have mentioned it before but it just came to me.”

 

“That sounds…do-able,” Gemma concedes, “but I wasn’t calling for a handout,” Harry opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off quickly like she expected him to do exactly that, “in the form of housing…or otherwise.”

 

“What’s up Gem? I gotta get to the airport.”  


“The airport?” Gemma exclaims, “Who’s traveling? You dropping Zayn off? Did he get his first international contract or something?”

 

“He wishes,” Harry snorts. “No…it’s me.  I’m going to New York…with L...Louis.”

 

Gemma cackles loudly down the line.

 

“Did you just stutter over his name little brother?!”

 

“No,” Harry denies hotly, pulling the edge of his shirt away from his neck, now sticky with sweat, “and don’t make a big deal, it’s not…like that. I’m just going to be there for moral support…he’s going to break up with his boyfriend.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” Gemma says and Harry can see her in his mind’s eye, her eyes twinkling with humour as she rests her legs up against her wall, her silky hair fanning out across the bed, “you’re going all the way to America with him in order to be there while he breaks up with boyfriend? It’s _exactly_ like that Harry Edward Styles.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes but he’s grinning anyway. Gemma has him wrapped around her little finger. There was never a fight between them that lasted more than a few hours because she had a way of making him turn blue in the face in his efforts not to laugh. He always cracked. By the same token, she couldn’t resist any form of sincere apology from him. All it ever took was him throwing his arms around her waist with a mumbled “I’m sorry Gems” and she’d sigh “damn straight you do” and hug him back.

 

“No, look… I don’t want to get into it with you now but his boyfriend isn’t the kind of person I want him around on his own. Not…not that I have any control over that or _should_ have control over that but I just need to-- I want to protect him Gems,” Harry’s voice turns fierce, coloured with emotion but strengthened by conviction, “I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep him in one piece.”

 

“Shit,” Gemma says, clearly sobered by the presence of dark Harry in his tone, “god that’s--Louis was lovely…you’ll--you’ll give him a hug from me yeah? Make sure you show him a good time in New York Haz, take him for ice cream or something. Do something fun.”

 

Harry’s smile creases his whole face. He’d be lying if he said Gemma wasn’t one of his favourite people on earth. He sometimes wonders how neither of them ended up cold or stiff like their parents but then figures that wondering won’t do him any good. He best just be grateful for the fact that they aren’t like that and that they never have been.

 

“I will,” Harry says, rough voiced, “I’ll put a smile on his dial.”

 

“Who’s dial?”

 

Harry sits up to find Louis leaning back against his wardrobe, looking flawless in a pair of high waisted, slim fit jeans and a white high necked shirt. Louis’ soft hair finishes just before the base of the collar and though the shirt is fully buttoned over his collar bones, Harry can see the outline of Louis’ dark tattoo through the slight transparency of the material. Harry also notices that the cuffs around his sleeves remain unbuttoned as Louis holds out his wrists, a playful light in his eye.

 

“I gotta go Gem,” Harry tells his sister.

 

Louis’ eyes light up and his mouth opens in a grin. He jerks his chin toward Harry’s phone and wiggles his fingers in the air.

 

“Oh but..Louis says hi?” Harry says, directing the question in his tone toward Louis who nods, beaming wide.

 

Gemma’s delighted laugh fills his ear.

 

“Okay Haz, tell him I said hi too and give him that hug, don’t forget! Love you Potter, see you when I break out of Askaban.”

 

Harry hangs up the phone and then tilts his head back, laughing. Louis moves towards the bed, arms still outstretched, his lips spread wide in an indulgent smile. His blue eyes glow like fireflies drawn toward a campsite.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing,” Harry grins and then wraps his arms around Louis’ wrists, tugging him forward.

 

Louis almost falls to Harry’s lap but he steadies himself with a hand cupping Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Dangerous Styles,” he breathes quietly.

 

Harry winks and then grabs the hand that’s not resting on his shoulder, gently squeezing the tops of Louis’ legs with his open thighs to keep him there. He turns Louis’ cuff up over his sleeve and then carefully buttons the two small black buttons.

 

“Nice shirt,” Harry says lightly.

 

It’s occurred to him that Louis is dressed to impress…and that it’s not for him.

 

“Thanks,” Louis says, the same note of caution in his tone.

 

Harry chooses to let it go. He squeezes the bottoms of Louis’ fingers with his own and then pats the other hand on his shoulder to get Louis to lift it. Once he’s done buttoning the other cuff, he pats the side of Louis’ thigh to get him to step back.

 

“Thank you,” Louis says again, looking flustered as he stands there, brushing one foot over the carpet and playing with the edge of his shirt.

 

Harry gets up and steps toward him. He looks down at Louis’ face, his gaze tracing Louis’ pretty, long eyelashes, and the small roundness of his nose, letting his eyes drop to his moist pink lips and the curve of his tanned neck that smells of sweetness. Louis’ eyes watch him too but when Harry meets his stare, his eyelashes flutter down and his mouth parts. Harry pauses and then folds his arms around Louis, bracketing his waist tightly and swooping Louis up into an intimate hug. He feels Louis’ feet rise with the movement and then Louis’ arms go around his neck, his fingers interlocking against Harry’s skin.

 

“From Gemma,” Harry whispers, ghosting his hand down over Louis’ flank.

 

Harry’s skin breaks into heat when he feels the way Louis’ body fills his hand, the leanness of his upper body and the swell of his hips pressing erotically tight against the fitted shirt. The shirt slides up to Louis’ belly button as he rises on to the tips of his toes and Harry gets a shock when his hand slips down over bare skin, the warmth of Louis’ naked hip filling the curve of Harry’s hand like it was shaped especially for this. Harry feels goose bumps on the skin beneath his hand and though Harry would like to trail soft kisses over Louis’ hipbone, lathing over his naked tummy with his tongue, they both break away from the contact, transitioning from frantic to composed in an instant.

 

“I should um, get changed,” Harry says, trying to keep the ragged edge from his tone, “then we can leave.”

 

“Course,” Louis agrees, bobbing his head a bit too fast, “I’ll just…wait outside.”

 

Harry waits for the soft click of the door before pulling some black skinnies from his wardrobe and a black shirt with a blue and white polka dot pattern printed upon it. He leaves the shirt unbuttoned to the start of his chest and grabs the finishing touches which are include a sizeable black fedora, dark sunglasses hooked onto the side of his collar and a pair of brownish-black ankle boots that match the colour of the kitten necklace he slips over his head. He grabs his bag from the bed then hurries to clean up its spilled contents from the floor, checking twice to see if he zipped it this time before walking outside his room.

 

Louis’ leaning up against the wall by the door, his head tilted back far enough that his throat features those two indecently attractive tension lines that Harry can only dream of tracing with his tongue. When Louis hears Harry emerge, he flips his head up and then stills, gazing at Harry for a few beats too long. His tongue slips out of his mouth in an almost lazy fashion and falls across his bottom lip, leaving behind an iridescent pink shimmer that short circuits all the pathways in Harry’s brain.

 

“Your mouth,” Harry rasps, pained.

 

“My mouth,” Louis’ eyes bulge and the tips of his fingers brush over his lips self-consciously, “what’s wrong with my mouth?”

 

Harry doesn’t know whether to sigh with relief or shake the man.

 

“Nothing,” Harry shakes his head and moves toward the door, “my mind is frazzled, choosing a necklace is difficult but…” Harry rolls his eyes, self-deprecating “who would have thought it could completely screw with my head?”

 

Louis reaches out to touch just as Harry reaches his side. His little finger knocks the kitten sideways.

 

“Cute,” he smirks, slits of cheerful blue fogging up Harry’s own eyes with their beauty, “cockroach for the road-“

 

Louis’ expression freezes abruptly and then his face collapses.

 

“Hugh Grant!” He exclaims, grabbing Harry’s bicep, “who’s looking after him?”

 

Harry giggles and doesn’t quite manage to stop himself from running a hand over the back of Louis’ hair as he smiles down at him with affection. Louis’ head tilts back into his hand a little as the panic in his eyes dims.

 

“I was going to text Zayn,” Harry says, still grinning, “but if you’d rather we didn’t leave the baby…“

 

“Oh shut up,” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm, “he’s still a filthy cockroach.”

 

“But you love him,” Harry teases, backing out of the flat with his suitcase and a smug glow in his eyes, “you think he’s gorgeous…you want to kiss him…you want to-“

 

“Quoting Miss Congeniality is pathetic Styles, really-“

 

Harry drops his suitcase and falls back against the wall of the corridor, a laugh breaking out of his chest as Louis shuts the door behind him.

 

“You’ve seen it,” Harry giggles, “you’re calling me pathetic but you’ve seen it. First, you fall reluctantly in love with my kitten and now I find you’ve seen miss congeniality…might have to marry you Lou.”

 

Louis’ eyes pop but then he moves determinedly across the hall at the sounds of Harry’s breathy laughter.

 

“Stop that,” Louis whines, tugging on Harry’s wrists as Harry rolls his head from side to side over the wall, the tail end of one chesty laugh blending into the start of the next, “stop laughing at me.”

 

“Can’t,” Harry says with a grin, his body still shaking, “you’re much too funny.”

 

“Styles,” Louis growls suddenly, lifting Harry’s wrists above his head and pinning his hands to the wall, quickly interlocking their fingers, “you absurd hipster. Quit laughing.”

 

The corners of Louis’ mouth twitch but he must sense the breath caught in Harry’s chest because he looks down and finds Harry’s eyes on him, his laughter falling away as he looks up at Louis with nothing short of awe. The traces of humour fall from Louis’ mouth too and he presses in close, the heat from his stomach burning through his shirt and Harry’s, heating Harry’s core to melting point as their torsos brush with a soft rustle. Harry has the strongest urge to grip Louis’ hips, sink to his knees  and then worship his navel right here in the hall, sucking mouthfuls of warm skin into his mouth until Louis’ breath runs ragged and his skin turns pink and shiny with wetness. He has an even stronger desire to slide his fingers through the back of Louis’ hair and join their mouths, licking into Louis’ mouth with reckless abandon. Louis disturbs the moment, reaching up to knock his fedora off and scrunching his hands in Harry’s curls.

 

“Curly,” he says, eyes dropping back to Harry’s as he smirks, mischief reignited.

 

Meanwhile Harry stands there trying to ignore the swell of Louis’ stomach against his own and the pleasurable bud of warmth that it provides.

 

“Lou,” Harry says back, raising an eyebrow.

 

Louis dances away from him, tugging his suitcase with him.

 

“C’mon hipster,” Louis calls, pulling his suitcase down the stairs, “we’ve got a plane to catch.”

 

Harry groans low in his throat and then launches himself off the wall and sets off after Louis.

 

…….

 

“Harry,” Louis croaks pathetically.

 

“Yeah?” Harry smiles lazily down at the head resting on his shoulder, “Thought you were asleep.”

 

“No,” Louis nudges Harry’s shoulder sideways and Harry bows his head just to look at Louis’ downcast eyelashes and the way his swollen, olive toned eyelids keep slipping closed, “but you…stop.”

 

“Stop what?” Harry asks innocently, continuing to part the top of Louis’ hair with his fingers.

 

“m..hair,” Louis mumbles sleeping, “M..hair.”

 

“Mm, hair?” Harry says with a grin and he presses his lips ever so gently against Louis’ temple.

 

“My hair,” Louis says more clearly, as he manages to turn his head up in Harry’s hand, Harry’s fingers still covered in soft brunette strands, “stop playing with my hair.”

 

His small bottom lip is turned up completely and his barely open blue eyes are full of innocent, childlike petulance starkly contrasting with the ginger toned stubble around his chin. His eyebrows form determined creases as he tugs on Harry’s shirt.

 

“Why?” Harry questions, still grinning softly.

 

Louis squeezes his shirt but then drops his head back down to the space between Harry’s shoulder and neck. Louis’ natural sweet scent intermingles with his heady aftershave in the air and Harry sighs, contented.

 

“’s putting me to slee-“

 

Harry looks down and finds Louis’ eyes shut once more, his mouth hanging open as a soft snore emanates from within, pulling his chest out with it. Harry’s not heard him snore yet and he wonders gleefully if he only snores when he’s truly and deeply relaxed. Harry continues to play with his hair for the majority of the seven hour flight, content to hum the Fray to himself and listen to Louis’ adorable snoring all the while. Louis wakes up six hours in, pulling his head from Harry’s shoulder and looking up at him with confused bleary blue eyes and a disgruntled frown.

 

“You put me to sleep,” he accuses, sounding parched.

 

“Water?” Harry asks, holding the bottle out to Louis.

 

Louis’ throat bobs and for a moment he thinks Louis might simply continue to glare at him but then he clutches the bottle in his fingers and unscrews the cap, taking a long swig before placing it back down on Harry’s tray table.

 

“Better?”

 

Louis scoffs at him, eyes sharp.

 

“It’s your fault. If you had just stopped playing with my-“

 

“You like it when I play with your hair,” Harry asserts, making his point as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind Louis’ ear and watches Louis’ eyes melt to hazy blue, “it makes you go all soft.”

 

 _And you make me go all soft_ , Harry thinks to himself.

 

“Exactly,” Louis huffs, flushing pink, “now my shirt is all rumpled.”

 

Harry’s eyes slip down to Louis’ shoulders where the white material is filled with creases. He chuckles and Louis’ eyes flash with defiance. Harry can’t think of anything more beautiful than the image of Louis rumpled with sleep, his beautiful eyes two lazy slits of blue, perhaps wearing his glasses a little off skew and his clothes bearing traces of the way he slept curled up against Harry’s chest. It’s a decadent fantasy. One where Louis doesn’t have a noticeable shiner and bruises covering his stomach.

 

“Sorry,” Harry says, aiming for light hearted as he smiles a touch too brightly, trying to think around the image sliding around the crevices of his brain.

 

Louis doesn’t respond, just tilts his head back against the headrest and gazes at the roof of the plane.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry ventures.

 

Louis’ head tilts back up and his blue eyes lock with Harry’s.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Duncan,” Louis jumps at the mention of his name and Harry frowns, “he never…he never hurt your before….did he?”

 

“No,” Louis is quick to say, eyes wide with alarm, “no of course not. He wouldn’t…I mean, he was sometimes a bit…rough,” Louis’ eyes flee from the concern in Harry’s, “but it was…no, it was never like that."

 

“Rough?”

 

Harry struggles to keep his burning fury in check. Louis must sense it anyway. He reaches out and cups Harry’s chin with his hand, brushing his thumb over Harry’s stiff jaw and smiling whimsically. His eyes are full of loss and unsilenced demons and Harry’s heart is breaking for all the scars Louis’ heart must bear.

 

“I’m okay love,” Louis assures him, “still kicking, aren’t I?”

 

Harry takes his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist and Louis freezes. Harry does too.

 

“Sorry,” he says, wincing at his own indecency.

 

Harry realises he’s been taking advantage of Louis’ vulnerability without intention. Louis has needed his touch in such a painfully pleasurable way these past two days but that doesn’t give Harry free reign. God, what a stupid git.

 

“No,” Louis smiles at him, smoothing his palm over Harry’s cheek, “it’s fine.”

 

Harry smiles back and inwardly sighs with relief.

 

“Can I ask you something too?” Louis says with bitten lips.

 

A fond smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth.

 

“Please do.”

 

“Did you and Zayn ever…”

 

Louis trails off, biting down harder on his mouth and Harry is so distracted by it that he forgets that he’s supposed to be pondering a question.

 

“Ever…?”

 

“You know,” Louis says, ducking his blushing face, “did you like…did you-“

 

Understanding dawns on Harry and he chuckles.

 

“No we’ve never been anything but best mates. Why?”

 

Louis shrugs but doesn’t meet Harry’s gaze, choosing instead to pick at the seam of his jeans along the inside of his thigh.

 

“He’s stunning and you’re….I mean….if I was just starting out and wanted someone to experiment with…

 

"You would…with Zayn?"  
  
Harry frowns at him for a moment before realising how ridiculous it is that there's molten lava flowing through his veins at the mere thought of Louis with Zayn. He shakes it off.  
  
"Well...I mean there was one drunken snog," Harry admits with a nostalgic smile.  
  
"Oh," Louis looks torn for a moment and then, "but you never...."  
  
"Fell in love with him?" Harry snorts and Louis cracks a smile, "pshh, no. We both have disastrously long legs. I mean… can you imagine us having sex? Be like two octopus’...octopi...trying to copulate."  
  
Louis ducks his head as his eyes crinkle and he giggles loudly.  
  
"You did not just say copulate."  
  
"Yep," Harry giggles along with him, "octopi copulating _all_ night long. Sounds...slippery. Hey Lou," Harry says suddenly, his grin touching the bottoms of his ears, “how many tickles does it take to make an octopus come? Ten tickles. Tentacles. Get it?”  
  
Louis is positively cackling now and he grips Harry's thigh as he leans forward, his eyes sparkling.  
  
"Ridiculous," he gasps between giggles, "you're ridiculous Harold."  
  
"Absurd," Harry corrects, squeezing Louis' thigh right back.  
  
Louis' grin is stretched wide across his face and they swap thigh squeezes again, giddy with laughter before drawing back.  
  
"Besides," Harry says, expression controlled, "you don't fuck you're brother."  
  
Louis screws up his nose and Harry chuckles.  
  
"I'm serious though. Zayn is my brother in almost every sense of the word. The morning after we kissed, I brushed my teeth at least three times."  
  
"You're no fun," Louis sighs, planting his chin in his palms.  
  
"Oh okay then, Mr. Fun," Harry grabs Louis hand and swings it up and down in the space in front of them, "are you saying you'd snog Liam?"  
  
Louis' expression shrivels up with distaste and Harry raises his eyebrows at him.  
  
"Okay, okay so I wouldn't kiss Li," Louis concedes, absentmindedly squeezing Harry's hand back, "but I'd kiss Taylor. If I had to. I mean, I have kissed Taylor. She went through this whole phase where every time she saw me, she'd peck me on the lips. I eventually put a stop to it but it took some random bouts of screaming in public and talking about women like they turned me on to get her to stop."  
  
"You," Harry points his finger at Louis' chest, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, "you kissed Taylor? The tall blonde who showed up at my door?"  
  
"That'd be the one," Louis confirms with a sly smirk.  
  
"Fuck me," Harry’s breath stops, "I mean..."  
  
Louis cackles.  
  
"Harold, your language! That surprised, are you? It's not like I stuck my tongue down her throat."  
  
Harry shudders internally. The thought of Louis sticking his tongue down _anybody’s_ throat, anybody but well...his, is wretched.  
  
"I have kissed women before," Louis continues, irate.  
  
"I'm sorry Lou," Harry says, gently squeezing Louis' arm, "I just thought, I dunno why but I thought-"  
  
"That I came out of the womb waxing poetic about Brad Pitt?"  
  
"Brad Pitt?"  
  
Harry cocks an eyebrow and Louis ducks his head.  
  
"I liked Jennifer Anniston because of Rachel but… I liked her taste in men almost just as much," he explains with reddened ears.  
  
His school boy crush is adorable to say the least and Harry has to sit back in his seat to stop himself from swinging Louis up into his lap and snogging him senseless.  
  
"My first boy crush was....Brian Stern."  
  
"Brian stern?" Louis echoes, tears of mirth fogging up his eyes, "that geeky news reporter with the patterned--oh,"  
  
Louis's laughter spills over his lips as he grins at Harry, all lit up with humour.  
  
"That's why you dress," Louis' eyes flit down to Harry's shirt, "the way you do, isn't it? Because of lover boy's ties?"  
  
"Don't tease," Harry grumbles, playing with the edge of his shirt.  
  
"Hey," Louis says gently, brushing his fingers across Harry's collar, "it's...I think it's cute."  
  
When Harry looks up, Louis' face is the colour of a tomato and he's pulling his messy fringe to one side, every bit as shy as Harry was just now. Harry smiles at him. If they weren't on their way to see the asshole of the century, Harry could almost pretend that Louis feels their connection as strongly as he does. He could almost believe that Louis is just as royally screwed as he is and that they could be royally screwed together.  
  
Louis looks much more awake now but he lays his head against Harry's neck anyway, his soft hair tickling the side of Harry's throat. It makes warmth pool in Harry’s belly when Louis lays a warm hand flat on his tummy as he leans across Harry to look out the window. There's a soft hazy glow about the evening sky, golden with streams of pink and blue. It’s like someone got distracted while painting and never quite finished each stroke. Harry stares unabashedly at Louis as Louis gazes at the sky. As pathetic as it makes him feel, for Harry, the masterpiece is the relaxed, appreciative look on Louis' face as the sunlight touches his skin. The peach toned light reflects off his curled eyelashes as they titter slightly and his golden skin sparkles beneath the sunlight, his eyes a shade of shimmery blue for which Harry honestly believes there is no parallel. Louis is butterscotch sweetness and toe tingling warmth and when Harry finally manages to drag his eyes away, he finds an air hostess holding her cart still and smiling at him with far too much knowledge in her expression.  
  
"Any refreshments sir?" She asks him, not bothering to engage Louis who remains stretched over Harry, his face near pressed to the glass with wonder.  
  
_It's not that endearing_ , Harry tells himself. _I'm not that far gone_. It feels like damn treachery.  
  
Harry silently shakes his head and the blonde's lips quirk up at the side. She points at Louis' turned back and then mimes a swooning motion, moving on to the next row of passengers with an amused grin. _Tell me about it_ , Harry thinks to himself. Swooning is just one of the many things Louis and his gorgeous profile makes Harry want to do. However, he senses Louis might not be so happy with him if he continuously opened his mouth over the dip in Louis' back for the remainder of the flight. As is, he can't resist the urge to rub a hand over that exact spot, roving across the heat of Louis’ skin to his hip and leaving his palm there to balance him, flat and heavy, the perfect curve making him dizzy with want. A smile paints his mouth when Louis edges closer to him, pushing into Harry's hand and then reaching up to cover it with his own as he continues to ponder the sky, eyes lit up the way they always should be. Harry wishes they never had to land.  
  
......  
  
"Harold, are you okay? You look two seconds away from going Spider-Man on me and climbing the damn buildings?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry shakes his head, wide eyed gaze fixed on the sky scrapers above, "I've just never been to New York and it’s…wow. Wish I'd brought my camera or--god, the lights are so pretty. It's like I finally understand what Alicia Keyes was singing about."  
  
_So are you_ , Louis thinks, _so pretty_ , his eyes catching on the way Harry's curls spill down the arch of his neck and then lift slightly in the breeze. They look especially soft and shiny today and Louis hates everything, including the fact that he still has no idea how to talk to Duncan with Harry right there beside him and yet still somehow can't find it within himself to push Harry away.  
  
Harry is right though. There's a certain kind of beauty to the rush and bustle of New York that's quietened just slightly in the onset of evening. Louis has never allowed himself to see it before now because the only time he has been here previously was when Duncan felt too uncertain about leaving him to his own devices after an "incident" with a guy in their building. Louis hadn't left the bed the whole trip and had returned to London with finger shaped bruises down the length of his spine. New York has always been a nasty place in his mind, the place where Duncan was called too often for meetings and contracts that took too long to negotiate. Standing here with Harry, it doesn't seem so terrible.

 

The world is bathed in a blueish white glow that settles over the streets like a layer of serenity even the rush of traffic can't shake off. Buildings tower toward the sky with their windows lit up like chains of fairy lights and everything moves at a slower beat at this time of day, turned night. Everything precedes at the pace of a breath sucked in and then exhaled out, as much commotion as at the height of day but without the pressure and pollution. It's the city of dreams and it's a city that Harry so clearly belongs in, standing there in his heeled boots with his hip cocked to one side and his fancy fedora tucked beneath one arm.  
  
"New Yooooork," Louis sings quietly and Harry turns to him, his eyebrows raised and a startled but spectacular smile on his lips.  
  
"Concrete jungle where dreams made of,” he sings back, lips trembling with amusement.  
  
"There's nothing you can't do...."  
  
"Are you trying to start a duet with me?" Harry asks, fighting off a grin.  
  
Louis moves closer and squeezes his hip, smirking as Harry squeaks and bats at his hand.  
  
"Harold, if I were to duet with you, I assure you...you'd know. It wouldn't be Alicia Keyes for one thing."

 

…..  
  
"What would it be?" Harry questions, stomach squirming with butterflies.  
  
Louis doesn't even hesitate is the thing. He blinks slow and sleepy and then looks up from beneath his lashes, a coy smile perched prettily on his lips and the blue of his eyes like some kind of ocean deep vortex.  
  
"Fire and the flood by Vance Joy."  
  
_Anywhere I go, there you are_. Is it because Harry pursued their friendship? Is the song even about him? Is it...is the entirety of it relevant? _And I always feel you in my blood._  
  
"Why?"  
  
Louis pinches his cheek, smirking all the while.  
  
"Just reminds me of you Hazza," he coos with a playful grin but Harry's stomach is in knots.  
  
Louis thinks of him when he listens to Vance Joy. It's just too damn good to be true.  
  
"We should get going," Harry says brusquely, trying his best not to get too caught up in the moment, "but ah...do you know where he's staying? He surely won't be at work at this time of night."  
  
Louis shrugs.  
  
"He often works late actually but yeah, we'll go to his hotel first. He always stays in the same one, same room and everything. He likes routine."  
  
Louis seems like the polar opposite, like chaos blending into spontaneity. Rather, it seems like that's who he’d be if he wasn't constantly constrained by the selfish, violent prat he’s in love with. Harry doesn't say any of this of course.  
  
"Okay well, lead the way kind sir," he says with a wink.  
  
Louis scoffs but it sounds more like a reluctant laugh as he turns and starts walking down the street, hips sashaying from side to side, the sway of his hips and the shape of his bum beneath his trousers making Harry's self-control peel at the edges. Those jeans should be illegal...that bum...the curve of his hips. _Holy hell_. Harry's mouth must be watering all over the path. When Louis realises Harry's not beside him, he looks back over his shoulder, face scrunched up with confusion and his hair wind ruffled and in complete disarray. How can someone be _so_ gorgeous and not know that they're gorgeous at all?  
  
"You coming or what?"  
  
Harry quickens his pace, taking long strides to reach Louis' side and when he does, Louis knocks his shoulder against his.  
  
"Too caught up in the scenery, hey?"  
  
Harry looks down at Louis but Louis' not looking at him, too busy trying to flag down a taxi to take them to wherever they're going.  
  
"You have no idea," Harry says softly, his voice rough and his eyes trained on Louis' distracted expression.  
  
......

 

“Excuse me, I’m here to see Duncan Bishop. Room 32?” Louis says, a polite smile perched on his lips.

 

The heavily made up brunette frowns at him, her ruby red lips turning down with confusion.

 

“I could have sworn I already gave you a key card as per Mr Bishop’s request,” she says, eyebrows inching higher.

 

Louis tenses but ignores the panicked flutter in his chest and grounds himself by looking back at Harry who smiles a touch unsteadily.

 

“Nope,” Louis says, plastering on a smile, “but I know how you feel love. Sometimes everybody starts to look the same.”

 

The woman smiles and isn’t she pretty when she’s not flicking her eyelashes too often and tapping her lacquered nails against the desk? Her eyes linger a little too long on his swollen eye but can he really blame her?

 

“Some days I swear I’m going to wrap this,” she pulls the employee ID card away from her chest, stretching the black lanyard tight around her neck, “around somebody’s neck and pull tight.”

 

Louis laughs and the woman reaches under the desk to retrieve a key card that displays the number “32” in bold black letters.

 

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman, Lacey, according to her ID, tells him, “and sir,” she turns her head a fraction to look at Harry, “your hair is divine.”

 

Harry blushes and taps his boot clad feet together like a schoolgirl who’s just been complimented on her sparkly blue eyeshadow. Louis is embarrassed for him. He also kind of wants to suck the sweet smile off his lips and then suck compliments into every inch of his skin. That ought to make him blush. _Fuck_. _Shut it_ , Louis scolds his errant mind and then sighs inwardly, _not for you_. He leads Harry over to the elevator without looking back to see if he’s following. _Duncan’s for you_ , he reminds himself and then doesn’t protest when Harry grabs his hand and squeezes as the elevator begins to move, red numbers flashing up on the screen as it passes each floor. Once it reaches the third level, the elevator makes a loud ding, and the metal doors slide open to reveal a plush red carpeted hallway with gold ceiling and large paintings adoring the walls. Louis drags Harry out by the wrist and then to the second door along.

 

“This one,” he says and then looks up at Harry’s grim expression.

 

“Harry,” he warns, “Harry…you can’t…” his hand reaches up and thumbs at the corner of Harry’s eye, turned down like a wounded puppy, “stop Haz. I need you to stay here and I need you to stop—stop looking at me like that because--“

 

“Louis,” Harry growls.

 

Louis’ eyelashes stop tittering and his breath halts as he awaits the angry outburst that’s surely coming. Instead Harry swoops him up in an embrace, his fingers sliding through Louis’ hair as he tilts them backward and Louis’ back ends up resting against the door.

 

“Harry,” Louis sighs, the noise slightly muffled by Harry’s neck which shivers beneath the movement of his lips, “let me go, yeah? Babe, please.”

 

That apparently gets through because Harry releases him. However he doesn’t retract completely, cupping Louis’ jaw with one hand, his other hand massaging the side of Louis’ face and thumbing over his cheek desperately. Louis’ breath feels short.

 

“What are you-“

 

“I can’t let you walk in there alone,” Harry says, his tone equal parts vulnerable and determined, “even if it makes you hate me. I’m not going anywhere. If you think I’m going to leave you with that monster--“Harry sighs, taking his hands from Louis’ face and pushing them into his pockets instead, “just don’t try fight me on this Lou because you won’t win.”

 

Louis is in awe of the strength standing over him. When he first met Harry, he hadn’t thought of him as the type to take control or to assert his own opinions so determinedly but here he is, all lit up from within with his instinctive need to protect Louis. It’s a different kind of strength from Duncan’s. Duncan’s strength is all in his hands. Harry’s bursts forth from within his soul, exploding across his eyes in a display of colour and light that dances across his pupils much like a firework explodes into brilliance in the night sky. Somehow Harry is infinitely more fascinating to watch. Harry has the kind of strength that doesn’t need to be proved, the kind of strength that is implicit in everything he does… and Louis envies him that.

 

“Okay,” Louis nods, heart contracting in his chest, “I won’t fight you on it.”

 

Harry gives him an answering nod and then Louis turns around and inserts the key card into the slot, his heart rabbiting in his chest, his blood coagulating in his veins because _oh fuck, this is it_. This is the defining moment. Either Duncan can forgive him his mistakes and Harry’s presence or he can’t. Either Harry will accept that Louis isn’t done with Duncan yet or he won’t. There’s too much riding on the next few minutes and the bitter, acrid taste of fear burns Louis’ mouth as the door gives way and Harry’s hand rests lightly on his back, guiding him inside.

 

…….

 

Louis sees it before Harry does. Harry’s stepped on his own foot and stumbled across the carpet, unseeing but then he hears a quiet gasp and when he looks up, Louis is quivering like a frightened animal and staring at the white fluffy four poster bed that’s positioned in the centre of the wall. Harry watches as Duncan slams his large hands against the wall and fucks his hips into the person beneath him, his naked arse on display, muscles tensing as he groans unlawfully loud and the guy beneath him whimpers. The sound of flesh on flesh is obscene in the silence of the hotel room as Duncan scrunches his hand in the brunette’s hair, pulling his head back at an unnatural angle while the guy whimpers louder. Harry’s eyes water. He can’t help but picture Louis in this exact position. The guy bears a striking similarity to Louis from behind with his thin sinewy legs and messy dark hair. However, his waist is much larger and he lacks Louis’ exotic skin tone. Still, it makes sense why the girl at reception thought she’d already let Louis up.

 

Harry hears a noise like a dying animal, an outcry of emotion that’s shrill and ear splittingly loud and when he turns toward it, he finds Louis’ face crumpled in a grimace, his mouth opened in a silent, or not so silent, scream.

 

“What the fuck,” Louis wails, “what the fuck are you doing?”

 

Harry stands stock still, trapped by the expanse of his shock. He’d had his suspicions downstairs and the look on Louis’ face in response to the receptionist’s confusion told Harry Louis might have thought the same but neither of them had been prepared for this. Harry had been in almost as much denial as Louis. He’d wanted to think that they could come up here, Harry would let Louis say some piece about wanting to make things better and then he’d somehow convince Louis that it was a bad idea. He’d drag Louis kicking and screaming from the building and then wait for Louis to forgive him and all would end with Louis snuggled up to him in his flat in London. Now the world is cracking open before him and a crater the size of a whole other planet is opening in the centre. Harry wants to grab Louis and run before he’s swallowed whole but his own feet are pinned to the ground, his eyes boring into Louis’ face as he watches Louis’ knees shake and sees his tears run in rivulets down his face.  He hears Louis’ panicked breaths come rasping out of his throat, his pain rushing to the surface like a deep stab wound gushing with blood.

 

Harry watches the muscles on Duncan’s back stiffen and then contract as he places his hands on the brunette’s waist and pulls out of him with a hiss. The brunette whimpers predictably as Duncan turns around and then stands, his cock already softening and laying limp against his thigh. The brunette collapses onto his stomach and doesn’t even bother acknowledging their presence, rubbing one off against the sheets like the twisted individual he clearly is. The lack of response to Louis’ presence tells Harry all he needs to know about the brunette’s knowledge of him. He knew about Louis… and he didn’t give a fuck. As long as he gets off…as long as he gets his pleasure, that’s all that matters to him.

 

“What are you doing here?” Duncan asks with a growl, the demon-like frostiness in his eyes shifting to Harry as he sneers, “What the fuck is _he_ doing here?”

 

 _Looking after your boyfriend,_ Harry thinks to himself, _because you’re a bloody tosspot and wouldn’t know how to appreciate a good thing if it came and bit you in the arse_. Harry doesn’t say anything…he doesn’t need to. The derisive, heated hatred in his eyes must be clear. Duncan takes a step toward Harry but Louis reaches out and wraps a hand around his wrist, eyes still streaming. This is between the two of them and Harry knows this is not the time to intervene, not unless he feels Louis is in danger. This is Louis’ battle now.

 

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Louis sobs, bottom lip shaking so hard that if Harry could find the will to move, he’d go over there and still it with his thumbs, “What are you doing with him? Is he--is this Sasha?” Louis’ eyes fill with understanding and a sick, haunted truth that seemingly tears at his soul. Harry watches the tendons in his throat tighten, his voice thin and wiry like he can scarcely speak around the weight of his despair. “You lied to me. This is Sasha, isn’t it? Not some woman from your office. You’ve been…” Louis swallows and Harry itches to hold him, “you’ve been fucking him all along haven’t you? How long has it been?”

 

“Two years,” Duncan says, still sneering, no sign of remorse as he stands there, still stark naked and yet without any trace of shame, “I’ve been fucking him on the regular for two years. You had no clue, did you _babe_? Did you think that you could actually satisfy me on your own?” Duncan tilts his head back and laughs, his tone low and mocking as he flicks his cold gaze up and down Louis’ figure, “as if you could compare with that.”

 

He tosses his head back towards the brunette who is seemingly done getting himself off, a disgusting cum splatter spread over his stomach as he lays back against the pillow, ankles crossed over each other and arms behind his head. There’s no shape to his stomach, no lovable pudge and no real curviness around his flat hips. He’s got washboard abs, sure and pearly white teeth but he’s not Louis. He’s nothing compared to Louis and fuck, if Duncan doesn’t see that then he’s even more messed up than Harry first thought.

 

This guy is fit but Louis is the kind of guy you look at once and then never stop thinking about. Harry hadn’t been able to at least. Louis’ been a constant fixture in his mind since their very first encounter when he was all vulnerable and messy, his beauty clothed and yet equally enhanced by the sadness imminent in his expression. Louis is not the kind of guy you fuck for an hour to satisfy a craving. Louis is the kind of gorgeous, blue eyed elfin man who catches your eye by chance but holds your gaze for eternity. He’s the kind of guy you make love to for endless stretches of time and yet never seem to get your fix. Harry just knows that his thirst for Louis would be unquenchable. He’d never qiite feel quite sated because how could you ever get enough of how it feels to touch and taste every inch of that feather soft, honeyed skin?

 

“All this time,” Louis’ tone is steely now, tears still cresting over his cheeks as his expression bursts with rabid violence, “all this time, that’s what this was about. This whole jealous, possessive bullshit,” Louis swears viciously, chaotically flicking his hand out at Harry.

 

Harry is so god damn proud that Louis finally sees Duncan’s truths for what they are; not truths at all…the worst kind of blasphemy.

 

“You felt guilty,” Louis says slowly and Harry notes the dimming of Duncan’s triumphant sneer and the twitch of his hands by his sides, “you felt so guilty for betraying me that you blamed it on me. You wanted to think that if you could do it to me,” Louis’ mouth twists with what just might be disgust. “I must be doing the same. I-” Louis’ voice breaks but he closes his eyes and breathes out deeply before continuing, “I can’t believe I thought you loved me. You hurt me, you almost k-killed me,” Louis’ eyes fly shut again, his whole face clenching as he bangs his closed fists against his temples, “and I came back,” he sobs, “I came back for you. I was going to-“

 

Louis looks Harry’s way and his eyes well up with a fresh round of tears, his chest rising and falling quickly as he peruses Harry’s face, looking for signs of judgement. He won’t find any.

 

“I was going to ask for forgiveness,” Louis says quietly but he’s not talking to Duncan anymore.

 

He’s confessing to Harry and Harry wants him to know that nothing has changed. Of course he knew why they were here.

 

“I know,” Harry assures him, his shock finally dissipating as he takes a step in Louis’ direction, “it’s okay. I knew before we left London love.”

 

Duncan’s spit lands on the side of Harry’s neck and he shudders. It's not simply abhorrent because it's saliva but more so because of its owner, the man who messed up Louis' face and stomach, the man who messed up his mind and all the while was the one sneaking off to fuck some other guy. Harry almost bites clean through his lip with how much he wants to punch him out. Louis uses the cuff of his shirt to rub away the spit, his oval eyes two spots of glowing calm that bring Harry back to earth and stop him from losing himself to fury and vengeance.  
  
"Let's go," Louis says quietly, his mouth a thin line.  
  
Harry doesn't look at Duncan either. He nods and covers Louis' shaking hand with his own, rubbing his thumb across the bottom, feeling that softness warm beneath his touch.  
  
"Good," Duncan snaps, "take your boyfriend and get the fuck out so I can get back to fucking mine."  
  
_Ignore him_ , Harry mouths but Louis already is. He looks upset, frayed at the edges really but he interlocks his fingers with Harry's and starts to move toward the door.  
  
"You're a waste of space Louis Tomlinson. I wasted three years of my life with you. I'm sure your hipster boyfriend won't stick around as long."  
  
Louis' eyelashes brush his cheeks as tears spill out from beneath and his steps falter. Harry's had enough. He keeps his grip on Louis' hand while turning to glare at Duncan. It's the coldest look he's ever given anybody. His eyes are molten green, his mouth sewed into an angry pucker and he can feel the acid about to spew from his lips.  
  
"Don't you dare say another word about him," Duncan's sneer is mocking as he opens his mouth but Harry cuts him off, "not one. Don't even think about getting within five feet of him. He's not a waste of space," all other sounds have died in Harry's ears but the emotional, wobbly rasp of his voice, "he's got so much more heart than you'll ever understand you…you rodent. _You_ ,” Harry stabs a finger in his direction, “you’re the waste of space. Anybody who can't see how much of a fucking brilliant person he is," Harry waves his hand at Louis, eyes frenzied, "is beyond help."  
  
Harry's heart is racing, his breathing loud in the relative silence of the room. Harry doesn't look at Louis, only Duncan. Duncan, who still wears that arrogant, corrosive grin.  
  
"Lou...babe," Duncan's mouth lifts higher as he shifts his look to Louis, "your guard dog needs a muzzle."  
  
Ironically, Louis is the one who growls low and deep in his throat, his words a mixture of heated anger and meaningful conviction. Harry twists in his direction with shock as Louis raises his voice.  
  
"I'm glad," he shouts, "glad I can count on him to fight with me instead of against me," Louis pulls on their conjoined hands and leads Harry to the door, "c'mon Haz, let's go."  
  
Duncan doesn't say a word this time and neither do they, Harry still in complete shock as they leave the room hand in hand. It's when they get to the lift that Louis collapses. At first, he just sniffles quietly but as soon as they step inside the empty metal box, he lets out a heavy sob. He turns and rests his folded arms against the wall of the elevator, resting his tear stricken face upon them as Harry watches his torso heave beneath the tightness of his shirt, the back of the material crinkling every time he draws breath.  
  
"Louis," Harry calls but Louis doesn't respond.  
  
"Lou," he tries again, "Lou, come here."  
  
Louis continues to cry against the wall and when they get down to the base level, he runs out ahead of Harry as Harry swears and trips over his feet trying to run after him. When he makes it outside the hotel, Louis is hunched over a bin on the sidewalk, face wet with tears and his face a sickly shade of pale. As Harry draws closer, he detects the smell of sick. When he gets to Louis, he bends down beside him. Kneeling, he's almost the same height as Louis bent over the bin. Louis' face rises from the bin but he pulls back away from Harry.  
  
"Just...just leave me alone Harry," he begs and his next word is off kilter and desperately sad, his blue eyes fogging up with new tears, " _please_."  
  
Harry's eyes fog up too and he reaches into the bag on his shoulder and grabs a handkerchief. He holds Louis' gaze as he wipes his mouth and then dries his tears with the opposite edges.  
  
"No darling," he says gently, "I won't leave you."  
  
"Why?" Louis rasps.

 

His hand brushes ever so softly down the side of Harry's curls, his sobs transitioning into soft hiccups and his breaths slowing as if the act of petting Harry somehow calms him more than it does Harry. It makes Harry smile as he returns the touch, pushing Louis' sweaty fringe out of his eyes.  
  
"Because you stood up for me...and yourself. You were brave and wonderful and..." Louis is not quite smiling at him but his eyes shine with tentative hope, "and I want to be here with you. I meant every word Louis and he's...he's deluded because I'm not going anywhere sweetheart. I promise you."

 

“Don’t promise,” Louis croaks with damp eyes, the broken plea tearing at Harry’s composure, “ _please_ don’t promise me anything.”

 

That cockhead has completely messed him up and Harry would knock his teeth out if it would make any difference to the vulnerable man before him.

 

“How are you feeling?” Harry thumbs at the tears leaking down the sides of Louis’ chin, “I mean…do you want something to eat?”

 

“Yeah,” Louis bobs his head, “I feel…empty. Too empty.”

 

Harry leads Louis down the street by the hand and Louis follows along without asking where they’re going, dejected and exhausted, his head hanging low on his chest as he watches his own slow footsteps. Harry watches where they’re going for the both of them, tugging Louis inside the first mostly empty diner they come across and gently guiding Louis into one side of a booth while he takes the other.

 

“Can I help you guys?” a cheery voice asks.

 

Harry looks up and finds a waitress standing over them with a notepad open in her hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She’s dressed in a tight blue dress with shoulder pads and she has fluffy grey hair that looks like it must be an absolute pain to tame in the mornings. She looks like the kind of woman who doesn’t have a bad bone in her body and Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when she smiles down at Louis like he’s the son she never had, ignoring the bruise upon his eye the way Harry knows Louis needs it to be ignored.

 

“Put a smile on that dial gorgeous,” she says softly, bending down to push at the corner of Louis’ mouth, “looks like it’d be a stunner.”

 

Louis’ lips flutter beneath her fingers, just a small trace of his former humour but Harry could kiss the fifty something waitress for being the cause of it.

 

“It is,” Harry says, drawing her attention back to him, “a stunner.”

 

“See, your boyfriend would love a glimpse of those pearly whites,” Lola leans forward, beaming as she says in a hushed whisper, “and may I just say you two make a darling couple. And British too? How charming!”

 

Harry doesn’t let his gaze touch on Louis. He doesn’t want to know to know just how horrified he is by Lola’s presumption.

 

“Oh we’re not toge-“

 

Harry’s voice cuts off as he feels Louis tug insistently on his hand, wrapping his palm around Harry’s in the centre of the table. When Harry looks up, Louis’ eyes are shining happily up at the waitress and a dopey, adoring smile spreads across his features, filling the sides of his face with creases. It’s breathtaking.

 

“I thought the Big Apple was just the _perfect_ place to take him on our first official getaway as a couple. This one has a thing for the lights” Louis says, still beaming from ear to ear as he runs his thumb over Harry’s hand and tilts his head in Harry’s direction, “right little moth he is.”

 

Harry’s not sure what is happening but whatever it is, his body can’t rest silent. His heart is definitely fluttering to the beat of a moth’s wings in response to Louis’ soft, affectionate tone. He stares, slack jawed and completely smitten as Louis bites down on the corner of his mouth, so coy and casts his gaze down, his eyelashes fanning out across his cheeks like lacy black feather bowers.

 

“He’s my little moth though, isn’t he?”

 

Lola looks like she could tear up right there in the rundown diner, gazing at Louis like he might just be Romeo himself. Harry can’t say he blames her. His own eyes feel suspiciously prickly and he’s never felt such bone deep longing coursing through his veins and making him ache all over. Louis’ still running his thumb over Harry’s hand but he hasn’t glanced Harry’s way once and it seems rather deliberate. Harry is completely bewildered as to where this is coming from.

 

“My god,” Lola presses her open palm against her bosom, blinking back tears, “that’s just plain adorable. You’re both adorable,” she gushes, “let me get you love birds tonight’s special…on the house,” she adds with a wink.

 

“Thanks love,” Louis says, smiling genuinely at her, “but I’ll have to insist on at least the tip.”

 

She gathers up the menus before them and then lightly taps the back of Louis’ head with them like he’s the tiresome son she can’t resist indulging.

 

“Oh you,” she scolds, “you’re too much,” then she turns back to Harry and waggles her finger at him, “you better hold on to him Mr. This one’s a keeper.”

 

Harry’s response doesn’t even make it past his lips until she’s already bustling away, menus tucked beneath one arm. His voice is much too dry, the words far too soft and Louis’ thumb stops tracing the outline of his own as he whispers, “I’ll do that.” Harry looks up at the absence of the touch and Louis has finally taken it upon himself to meet Harry’s gaze. However, there’s a certain trepidation in his look and Harry notices the light fading from his eyes, the crinkles by his eyes disintegrating into baby smooth softness once more.

 

“Lou?” Harry says questioningly, watching Louis flinch something shocking. Harry’s response is to bring Louis’ fingers to his lips and plant a soothing kiss upon the inside of his hand, “Louis? What was that?”

 

Louis gulps and then lets his hand and his eyes fall away from Harry’s.

 

“I used to love to play pretend,” he admits with a soulful, rugged tone, a rueful smile dancing over his mouth.

 

Harry wants to pull more of that deep sound from within…. that sincerity and deep emotion filling Harry up in a way that he’s never been filled before.

 

“How do you mean?” He asks, watching Louis as he begins to tear one of the napkins into pieces on the table.

 

“I liked…drama,” Louis admits and now there’s a bitter, sardonic edge to the emotion in his voice. Harry reaches out to push his lopsided fringe away from his eyes and Louis’ Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I liked drama classes I mean. Always liked being the centre of attention, the class clown. If I was making people laugh, I was…” Louis’ mouth purses around the word and his eyes well up, his voice breaking, “happy.”

 

Harry’s much too caught up in studying the way the dim lights reflect in Louis’ irises, the pain and despair tangling together somewhere between those individuals flecks of soft blue. He’s silent as Louis opens his mouth again, eyelashes flapping against his cheeks chaotically, his mouth turned down in a frustrated line as he avoids Harry’s gaze.

 

“I’m sorry if that made you feel like…I wasn’t trying to like--I mean, I just wanted to know what it would feel like…” Louis’ finger traces a squiggly path on the white, shiny table but Harry watches his face only, waiting for Louis’ eyes to flit back up from the table, to his chest and then finally to his face, “what it would feel like,” he repeats, tendons standing out in his throat, “to be the kind of person who would be,” he says the rest in a rush of breath, “who would be with with someone like you.”

 

The quiet noises of the diner like the sizzle of the grill and the whoosh of the coffee machine falls silent in Harry’s ears as Louis’ mouth parts beneath his gaze. _You could, you are….you could be with someone exactly like me_. Harry can’t say it, not even with his eyes. He takes Louis’ fidgety hand instead and squeezes.

 

“You deserve the world Louis and if the man you’re in love with-“

 

“I don’t know,” Louis says frantically, his fingers shaking, “I don’t know that I am…that I am in love with him I mean. I just,” Louis squeezes Harry’s hand, his eyes wet, “when I saw him with…fucking somebody else,” Louis’ manages to say as his face forms a grimace, “it was like everything flashed before my eyes. Three years…but the last two years really. The lies and the--the pain. Harry,” Louis croaks, “Haz,” he whimpers, fractured memories rising up to surface of his deep blue eyes, “it hurt so much. He hurt me so much.”

 

“I know Lou,” Harry kisses the back of Louis’ hand, “I know how many he scars he left you with.”

 

“I just,” Louis’ eyelids fall shut and he pushes his hands back through the sides of his hair, “I just…I could see every inch of hurt right there in front of me and I thought, how can I be in love with that? How can you love the thing that’s destroying you from the inside out?” Louis beseeches him with wild eyes, “how can anybody be that fucked up?”

 

“Oh Lou, sweetheart no-“

 

“No, I am,” Louis shakes his head furiously, “I am but it’s--it’s like I was just empty. Like it hurt so much that I couldn’t breathe and then-then, poof,” Louis splays his fingers in the air, “nothing. I mean, maybe I’m numb. Do you think that’s what it is?”

 

Harry slides his hand through Louis’ hair and Louis leans into the touch, eyelids drooping slightly.

 

“I think you had a hell of a shock….but I also think,” Harry licks his dry lips, “maybe you were more in love with the Duncan you first met than the Duncan you know now… the one who hurt you so badl, the one who you walked in on being unfaithful.  Maybe what hurt you so badly was just the realisation that those two people might not be as connected as you thought? That you might have to let the person you first fell in love with go?”

 

Harry’s words spill out from god knows where. All he knows is they make some kind of sense to him as they do and Louis himself looks intent on hearing more, his eyelids dropping every time Harry scratches his scalp but his pupils intent on following the flow of words from Harry’s lips.

 

“You might be on to something Styles,” Louis says dryly, smiling sleepily across at Harry, “a regular Sigmund Freud, you are.”

 

Harry arches his eyebrows, his tone unimpressed.

 

“Sigmund Freud thought nearly everything could be traced back to sex,” Harry pauses for emphasis, “he was a sex starved lunatic.”

 

Louis’ smirk is coy, his pupils lifting just slightly from beneath his shimmering eyelashes.

 

“Sounds just like you,” he says in a breathy tone.

 

Harry laughs despite himself and then pushes Louis by the shoulder.

 

“Dick” he says, leaning forward ever so slightly.

 

“Oh Harold, that’s all you think about isn’t it?” Louis shakes his head, leaning forward too, “Dick, dick, dick and more dick.”

 

Harry can’t be arsed to pretend he’s not enjoying every minute of this. His goofy grin stretches his dimples up higher as he leans forward even closer, his bum perched on the very edge of his seat, Louis’ nose ticking the edge of his own. His green eyes flash with humour.

 

“Wrong,” he says slowly, watching Louis’ expectant smirk with bated breath, “all I think about is arse, arse, arse and more arse.”

 

 _Your arse,_ Harry adds silently. He watches with delight as Louis throws his head back, laughing loudly as his eyes scrunch shut with delight. He’s not playing pretend this time and Harry’s stomach turns over with the heady knowledge that he did that….he caused that. Louis is a vision, an absolute vision and Harry wants to kiss him into the next century when he laughs like this, all loose limbed and unguarded. Thankfully, that’s the moment that Lola returns with their “special” which happens to be two plates piled high with humongous greasy burgers and a mountain of hot chips or “fries” as Lola calls them. The two plates are accompanied by a huge chocolate milkshake with two bendy straws that Lola plants down between them with a sugary sweet smile and an exaggerated wink. Louis leans back with a delighted smile smoothed over his lips.

 

“Are we or are we not in grease?”

 

“That depends,” Harry waggles his eyebrows, “do I get to be Danny?”

 

“Fuck no,” Louis says with a grin, popping a long chip in his mouth and beaming around it, “I played Danny in my production and besides, have you ever even had a cigarette?”

 

Harry huffs his defeat much to Louis’ amusement.

 

“Well no but-“

 

“Well no but nothing. Eat your chips Styles, they’re much nicer when they’re not the same temperature as Antarctica,” Louis orders, nudging Harry’s plate towards him.

 

Harry looks down at it with a dubious frown. So much oil, so much--

 

“Hey, if I no longer have to worry about looking good naked, I’m going to make myself sick,” Louis says with a laugh in his voice, “and if I’m gonna make myself sick…you’re gonna make yourself sick with me Curly.”

 

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes, reluctantly taking a chip from the plate and stuffing it in his mouth. He may moan a little at the guilty pleasure of greasy food. Louis’ eyes go round for a moment and then his mouth settles into a knowing smile.

 

“Good then?”

 

Harry grunts at him, his mouth bursting with chips. He really shouldn’t have started this. Louis, however looks equal parts fond and amused as he chews his food, a persistent smile working at the corners of his lips. When Harry’s swallowed his mouthful, he looks up at Louis with exaggerated concern.

 

“I get the feeling you were a lot more of a menace to society three years prior.”

 

Louis’ drinking from the milkshake now, his cheeks hallowed obscenely around the straw, his feathered fringe sweeping across his forehead like something out of a windswept photo shoot for a winter catalogue. Harry takes a break from devouring his serve of grease to take the other straw. His pants feeling extraordinarily tight as Louis sucks even more insistently at his straw before lifting his mouth away with a wet pop that makes Harry choke a little on his drink. Louis’ tongue lathes over his bottom lip, collecting the stray droplets of milk and Harry’s brain almost whites out. Never mind the fact that Louis seems completely oblivious to the effect that this has on Harry’s sanity… Harry is completely and utterly destroyed for anybody else.

 

“Oh babe,” Louis flutters his eyelashes and Harry only just remembers the last thing he said before his mind turned to mush, “you have no idea.”

 

…….

 

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You can’t just go up there and- _Harry!_ Get back here you Neanderthal.”

 

Harry isn’t listening to a word, his mouth hooked up around his dimples as he jumps onto the makeshift stage and languidly makes his way over to the mic. His long legs stretch his trousers tight and his slightly limp curls trace the sides of his face as he moves. It had been Louis’ fault really. They had been scouting out a hotel for the night and Louis was just describing the person he used to be…the _fun_ Louis.

 

It wasn’t that he’d lost himself completely to Duncan but he’d remarked that it felt like he might have forgotten how to lose himself in the moment. There was always a repercussion for having too much fun when he was with Duncan and so it had been a long time since he’d simply lived. Harry had stopped them in the middle of the street when he heard the music streaming out of a crowded Indian restaurant and spotted the happy couple, swaying to and fro. There were ecstatic smiles glued to their faces as they danced to a slow, acoustic version of marry you by Bruno Mars. Harry got this spark in his eye and pulled Louis into the restaurant, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

 

“Harold,” Louis had hissed, “what the hell do you think you’re doing? We can’t just crash their wedding!”

 

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Harry had said with a glimmer of a dimple, his eyes dancing, “this is how you ‘live’ Lewis.”

 

Louis snorted, his mouth bending upward against his will.

 

“You’re not Scarlett O’Hara,” he said mockingly, “and this isn’t gone with the wind.”

 

“Shame,” Harry flicked a loose button at the top of Louis’ shirt and it popped open, “bet you’d look really fit in period clothing. Dashing, even.”

 

Louis had tried unsuccessfully not to blush as a bashful smile fluttered at the edges of his mouth. While Louis was still recovering from that remark, Harry jumped up on stage and now Louis watches with horror as Harry taps the side of his glass with a knife he produced from god knows where. The wedding goers fall silent, looking to Harry with curiosity but with no blatant suspicion. Harry begins to speak without an ounce of hesitation and Louis considers making a run for it without him.

 

“Hi everybody,” Harry shouts with a toothy smile, his expression full of charm, “My name’s Harry and I’m a friend of a friend of the bride.”

 

He lies smoothly and Louis rolls his eyes at him even though Harry is yet to look his way.

 

“First of all I’d like to say congratulations to the happy couple,” Harry tilts his glass toward the bride and groom who raise their glasses right back with open trust in the glow of their faces, “because it is a rare thing to find someone who…” Louis might be imagining it but Harry’s voice sounds hoarser as he trails off, his eyes trailing down to stare moodily into his glass as he continues, “Who makes time obsolete. When you’re truly in love, loving someone for a day and loving them for a lifetime is the same because it’s not about the number of times you wake up beside them or how many times you scream at them to just take the god damn rubbish out…” Harry pauses as the crowd laughs. Louis remains motionless, his lips parted as he gazes at Harry, dazed and hanging on every word. “It’s about the same feeling you get in your bones every single time they walk into a room. It’s--they will never cease to matter to you in a way that…” Harry sifts his hand through the air, expression far off, “in a way that nobody else has ever dared matter before.”

 

Louis’ heart is a balloon in his chest. Harry is a fucking poet and for someone who’s never really been in love, he sure knows how to describe the expansiveness of it. Louis has lost everything today, he’s lost his chance at that feeling…that feeling of time being obsolete. He’s lost that feeling of loving someone beyond all comprehension and yet as Harry finally meets his eyes, slightly misty eyed and smiling a lopsided, hopelessly endearing grin, Louis finds that nothing else exists around him. Nothing exists but those deep green waters and the way they swallow him whole, seemingly never to release him again.

 

“Now, as a gift to the happy couple--and may I just say, you both look ravishing,” Harry winks at the bride who giggles and leans back into her husband who wraps his arms around her and kisses the side of her face. It’s disgusting. Louis might be a little choked up, “--I have a song prepared. Mind you, this one also goes out to _m_ y Louis,” Harry’s teeth are poking through his lips as his eyes flit over to Louis’ but Louis’ heart presses insistently against his ribcage regardless. _Just a joke, just a joke, just a joke_. Why do his knees tremble as Harry continues? “My fit boyfriend, my buttercup,” Harry smirks at him and Louis flips him off much to Harry’s amusement, “whose wounds I ache to seal with a kiss.”

 

Harry’s eyes are still glowing with light hearted humour but Louis cannot meet his grin. His chest feels too small for his expanding heart and for all the oxygen he takes in with his huge breath. There’s something so therapeutic and so honest to god soothing about that little promise and Louis doesn’t want to question why. The words make him want in ways he’s not sure he’s ever wanted before or ever will again.

 

“This is if I was the one by Ruff Endz…”

 

Harry doesn’t look to Louis while he sings. No instead, he closes his eyes and wraps himself so sensually around the mic, his arms cradling the stand and his knees bent together. His lips look all too soft and swollen and Louis can’t bear the way his face pulls and tenses with each chorus, his tone deep and just shy of tortured. He’s beautiful even in sadness and Louis gets lost. He gets lost in the words that Harry spares for him, the words that feel like sunshine stroking the backs of his eyelids on a summery day as he stretches out beneath a band of trees. _You deserve better_ is what Louis hears in the soulful song. _You deserve to be loved with somebody’s whole heart._ Louis doesn’t know if he can believe in the ethereal, stunning simplicity of that but his heart wants to. His heart also wants to launch his body head long into Harry’s arms and nuzzle the side of his neck just for singing this…just for having such innocent concern for Louis’ needs….

 

_I see the way he treats you,  
I feel the tears you cried,  
And it makes me sad, and it makes me mad,  
There's nothing I can do baby.  
Cause your lover is my best friend,  
And I guess that's where the story ends.  
So I've gotta try, to keep it inside.  
You will never be, never be mine but..  
  
If I was the one who was loving you, baby.  
The only tears you'd cry would be tears of joy.  
And if I was by your side,  
You'd never know one lonely night  
And if it was my arms you were running to,   
I'd give you love in these arms of mine.  
If I was the one in your life.  
  
If I could have just one wish,  
I'd wish that you were mine,  
I would hold you near,  
Kiss away those tears.  
I'd be so good to you baby.  
You're the one I want next to me,  
But I guess that's just not meant to be.  
He's there in your life,   
And he's sharing your nights,  
It'll never be, never be right.  
  
(chorus)  
  
Yeah, baby.  
I want to reach out and feel you beside me,  
Right here beside me, babe.  
Take you in my arms right now,  
Scream 'I love you' right out loud.  
Some day I pray, that I'll find the strength,  
To turn to you and say…  
  
If I was the one who was loving you, baby.  
The only tears you'd cry would be tears of joy.  
And if I was by your side,  
You'll never know one lonely night  
And if it was my arms you were running to,   
I'd give you love in these arms of mine.  
If I was the one in your life._

_(Chorus)  
  
If I was the one, if I was the one,  
In your life._

…….

 

“Louis,” Harry squeaks, his eyes wide and his heart jumping wildly in his chest.

 

Louis smirks at him as he undoes the last button of his shirt and lets the soft white material fall open, exposing a tantalising view of his slim waist and shapely hips. His stomach, of course is the real kicker, shimmering in the luminescence of the moonlight, small goose bumps showing up as Louis’ muscles tighten in response to the cold rush of air. It’s still bruised blue and black but the moonlight reflects off the patches of tan skin poking through in the spaces where the bruising has already begun to heal.

 

“Louis,” Harry repeats uselessly as Louis sends him a devious smile and shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, the shirt fluttering down to the ground as Louis tilts his head back to look up at the stars.

 

“Relax Harold,” Louis hushes him, still smiling somewhat dreamily as he rolls his head around to look at Harry.

 

He belies his soothing words as he slips his thumbs inside the waistline of his pants and starts to tug at his sinfully tight jeans, exposing the top of his briefs.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry demands, tone pitched high while his eyebrows draw low.

 

Louis pauses in his action of pulling his trousers down but he doesn’t look too perturbed as he rests his hands on his hips and gives Harry his full attention.

 

“I thought you wanted to help me live hipster,” he says, his voice as soft and breathy as the quiet pull of the near non-existent waves in front of them, “why’d you think I brought you here?”

 

“To walk, to stick our feet in…I dunno, just not,” Harry swallows the flood of saliva in his mouth, his eyes tracing Louis’ chest tattoo with considerable want, “this.”

 

“Skinny dipping?” Louis says, voice a low thrum as he sticks his thumbs back inside his pants and pulls them down to his knees, stepping out of them quickly. “C’mon Harry,” he needles, “it’s been years since I’ve done it. There’s no one around or anything. _Please_.”

 

Louis’ eyes are much too blue, the water much too soulful and dark and the soft, slightly crunchy sand between his toes is a comforting sensation that Harry hasn’t felt in years. Harry ignores it all. He’s perfectly aware of his predicament. Nothing is as beautiful as the enchanting flow of muscles bulging and moving in Louis’ golden thighs as he shifts his weight around impatiently and the sinful sight of his crotch pressed up against his briefs makes Harry weak. Nothing is as tempting as the small pink nubs on Louis’ chest or the dip of his waist, just crying out for two large hands to warm it so. Harry won’t be tempted.

 

“When I said I wanted you to ‘live’ again, I didn’t exactly mean taking your clothes off in front of-“

 

“You’ve seen me naked Harold,” Louis says with a challenge in his imperious blue eyes and Harry wonders if Louis was like this 24/7 before Duncan, indignant and adorable. Plaufyl and resistant. He’s a handful like this but he’s also inarguably more attractive. “We showered together babe.”

 

“I do believe you were still wearing underwear at the time,” Harry reminds him, his eyes flitting down to the wide bulge in Louis’ pants and then just as quickly away.

 

“I do believe I came on your thigh,” Louis says and Harry chokes on air, his eyes flying from the push and pull of the sea back to Louis’ expectant expression.

 

This is a different Louis from the one who had sucked in his stomach with fear and sobbed with shame about his orgasm. This one is emboldened, empowered and…infinitely more dangerous.

 

“Look…Harry,” Louis says slowly and Harry’s feet scrunch in the sand to contain himself as Louis hooks his fingers in the sides of his briefs, “I understand if you’re afraid of a bit of cold water,” Louis smirks as he peels the briefs down, exposing the thin line of hair leading down towards his cock, “and a bit of nakedness,” he keeps pulling and Harry can’t help but look down as Louis’ soft, pink cock flops out of his pants, so much wider and bigger than Harry had first thought when he had felt its weight against his thigh. It is simply, in no uncertain terms…stunning, “but if you really want to be a good mate,” Louis bends over and pushes his briefs all the way down, exposing the perfect dimples at the base of his spine and the beginnings of his full and voluptuous bum, “you’ll put your feelings aside and come with.”

 

Put his feelings aside? _If only._

 

Louis stands before him now, fully naked and criminally beautiful with a windswept fringe and the most shockingly thick, baby pink cock hanging between his legs. It’s hands down the prettiest cock Harry’s ever seen. _Fuck the universe_ ….when did he get so used to swearing? Louis itches at the side of his hip, pulling his head to one side to expose the tanned column of his neck, so pretty and so bare without Harry’s lips attached.  There it is, Harry thinks belatedly, somewhere in between meeting Louis and standing here on this New York beach with a stiffening cock and a thumping heart…that’s when he learned the value of swearing. His head is a stream of indistinguishable curse words as Louis starts walking backwards over the sand, beckoning to Harry with a lopsided smile and freedom flowering, plenty and bountiful, in his bright blue eyes. Harry’s heart sings out a melody to the beat of Louis’ slow steps, his head dizzy with the heat of looking at Louis’ curvy figure.

 

_Wise men say…._

 

It’s the slight shock in Louis’ eyes when he finally reaches the water and the quiet gasp that Harry can hear even from a distance as the cold dark waters settle around his small waist. It’s the small tug of his smile as he rests his hands, palms down, on the water and continues to beckon to Harry, looking as happy as, well, a duck in water. It’s Louis’ unsung happiness filling the air that draws him in. Harry’s feet start to carry him over the sand, picking up pace as he sheds his clothes along the way, heart racing for how much he wants to be by Louis’ side. All the while Louis watches him with a quiet, steady gaze, completely still in the cool ocean.

 

_Only fools rush in…._

When Harry finally sheds his briefs, Louis’ eyes touch every inch of his skin, from the top of his head to his feet, making the surface of Harry’s body feel hot and sticky despite the cool, brisk wind blowing his curls out behind his head. Then Louis turns and wades deeper into the water and Harry is treated to a fleeting glimpse of his decadent arse as he stretches, his arms arced overhead, rising a little out of the water with his back to Harry and his bum on full display. His arse cheeks shine in the light of the moon, two perfect, firm, full globes that drip fat droplets of water like something out of Harry’s (wet) dreams. Then Louis dives low beneath the water with a quiet splash and Harry only slightly recovers his breath.

 

_But I can’t help…_

Louis rises once more and turns, using a hand to fold his fringe back over the rest of his hair. He smiles at Harry, eyes scrunched with pleasure as Harry’s body is finally swallowed up by the frostiness of the water and he squeaks at the cold temperature. Louis stands and waits as Harry wades towards him, the melody still thrumming through his veins. Louis gazes up at the moon, the curve of his arse just visible above the water and the blue of his eyes glittering in the darkness. When Harry hearts the contented sigh drip from Louis’ lips, his own heart palpitates in his chest and his stomach swoops low, the melody finishing up in his mind with an earth shattering whisper that sends a bone deep shudder through his system…

 

_Falling in love with you…_

“It’s not that cold Harold,” Louis sings, amused, studying Harry’s gobsmacked expression with narrowed eyes, “or are you just that mesmerised by the ocean?”

 

_I’m that mesmerised by you._

“I’m fine,” Harry says, voice tight and choked.

 

Louis raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it as he yanks on Harry’s hand to bring him closer. Harry stumbles and Louis catches him, his small hands clinging to Harry’s waist and folding around him to rest on the small of his back. His touch burns. Harry uses the only option available to him. He scoops Louis up in his arms and catapults him into the water, Louis’ arms and legs kicking out sporadically as he goes under, the water swallowing up his startled cry. He emerges from the water with a curse word on his lips and revenge searing in his eyes. Harry loses it, despite himself, his body shaking with laughter as Louis stalks his way back over to him.

 

From there, it’s a free for all as Louis tries countless times and unsuccessfully, mind you, to dunk Harry or throw him under. He’s just too small and every time he even gets close, Harry has only to capture his hands in one of his own and then his waist inevitably ends up tucked under Harry’s arm as Harry sends him under again. It’s in all in good fun though and Louis giggles as much as he swears.

 

Eventually they tire out and let themselves lie back like star fishes, floating in the shallows and watching the stars in comfortable silence. Harry almost falls asleep but Louis tugs on his hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling him upward. When Harry’s feet touch back on the sand, Louis is suddenly upon him. His legs go around Harry’s waist, his ankles knocking against Harry’s bum and they’re awfully close…too close…so close that the angle brings their cocks into contact, making Louis’ breath hitch and Harry’s head spin.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry says with an awkward and entirely forced laugh.

 

“I wanted to thank you,” Louis says in his ear and when he readjusts himself, locking his legs tighter as to not slip away, the tips of their cocks brush again and Harry realises with a shock that they’re both semi-hard, “for today. For everything. You’re brilliant Harry Styles. _Really_.”

 

“That’s okay,” Harry says, voice strained as he reaches around to pat Louis’ bum.

 

He may have forgotten that they were naked and that he would be touching Louis’ perfect, soft-to the-touch, bare arse. His reason flies out the window though because Louis whines a little and rubs himself against Harry. Their bodies are suctioned so closely together that Louis’ grinding traps Harry’s cock against his stomach between himself and Louis, their groins perfectly aligned. It leads to some torturously good friction and Harry’s hand has a mind of its own as he kneads one of Louis’ bum cheeks desperately and presses on the small of Louis’ back to bring him closer with the other. Louis shudders and uses his own hands to rake Harry’s curls away from his face, staring deep into his eyes as he drags his body along Harry’s, their cocks sliding together, sending fissures of pleasure through Harry’s system. It’s too much and not enough. Harry wants to kiss him…wants to kiss Louis’ until his lips tingle indefinitely but now is not the time. Louis is not ready. He doesn’t want Harry the way Harry wants him and Harry can’t bear to have Louis take this back and call it a mistake. He wants Louis but he wants _all_ of Louis…not just this.

 

He draws away from the embrace, pulling Louis’ hands from his hair and his feet from around his waist as he floats backward in the water. Louis pouts at him, eyelashes wet and his body suddenly trembling from the lack of warmth. If they weren’t still naked and Harry’s cock wasn’t leaking something shocking, he would tuck Louis in his arms and hold him close.

 

“Sorry Lou,” he says instead, working to make his voice sound less affected, “but we’re mates, you know. It would be-“

 

“Weird,” Louis finishes with a slight shake to his tone but with that a grin lights up his features, convincing Harry that he was right to pull away, “don’t know what got into us. Skinny dipping probably wasn’t the best idea, I’ll admit.”

 

“No, it was fun,” Harry argues, voice turning soft, “I like you like this. All…unrestricted. Just feeling and acting on it you know. No…limits.”

 

“Oh,” Louis looks down at his toes beneath the water, as if not sure how to respond, “I um…yeah. I like me like this too.”

 

Harry holds a hand out for Louis to take and Louis smiles gratefully. They walk back to shore like that and don their clothes, both grimacing at the way their clothes stick to their wet skin.

 

“I take it back. This was the worst idea--“Harry starts to complain as they start walking back up the beach, side by side.

 

Louis pushes him and he stumbles in the lumpy sand.

 

“I know it was a bad idea but just shush Harold. You’re not the one who got dunked ten million times.”

 

“You just kept coming back for more,” Harry chuckles, absentmindedly smoothing the top of Louis’ hair with his hand as Louis fails to flatten out the spikes on his own, “if you weren’t so little, you’d be a worthy competitor.”

 

“Little my arse,” Louis mutters vehemently.

 

Harry can’t help but tug Louis in by the waist, planting a kiss on a wet strand of hair curling around his temple.

 

“No Lou,” he says with mirth, looking down at Louis with a widening grin, “your arse is certainly not little.”

 

Harry spends the walk to find a hotel fending off Louis’ well aimed punches and laughing his head off at the brilliance of his own joke.

 

…….

 

“He’s a lot better than I thought,” Jay says, cocking her head to the side as she surveys Louis from the safety of the kitchen. “I mean, he’s quiet….but he’s not in pieces, is he? Or is he just putting on a front do you think?”

 

Louis’ got Doris in his arms and he’s singing softly to her, a loving smile pressed into his lips as he traces the bottom one of her tiny feet with his thumb. Harry’s never been more certain that he’s in love. When Louis’ smile inches higher in response to something that Doris does, Harry’s does too, his heart melting in his chest. He’d make the best dad. Harry can’t help the flood of images that pervades his brain. Images of Louis scooping up their little girl in his arms and showering her face with kisses amidst her girlish giggles. Images of Louis sitting up on the kitchen counter with their little girl in his lap as Harry flounces around the kitchen making dinner, constantly distracted by the sight and helpless but to return to Louis for chaste kisses even amongst the complaints from their daughter. He’s such a goner.

 

“No,” Harry smiles at Jay, taking his and Louis’ tea out of her hands, “I don’t think it’s a front but…he has his moments.”

 

Harry thinks back to that morning, waking up in the hotel in New York to the sound of Louis sobbing loudly. Harry had sat up, his curls all spiky and fuzzy, his voice cracking with sleep as he pulled Louis into his lap. Louis had buried his weepy eyes in Harry’s shoulder and clung to him weakly.

 

“Darling, what happened?”

 

Harry couldn’t find it within himself to resist the endearment when Louis was clinging to him like that, all vulnerable and defenceless, pulling on Harry’s heart strings with no effort at all. Louis had pushed his phone into Harry’s hand and Harry had read the scathing text with murder in his eyes, biting down so hard on his tongue that his mouth filled with blood and his eyes watered.

 

 _I’m srry things had to end this way, rlly am but maybe if u had kept urself in check and known a thing_ _or 2 about keeping a man satisfied, it wouldn’t have cum to this. When I fucked u, I thought of him._

Harry could tear that arsehole limb from limb. Instead, he cupped the back of Louis’ head and gently pressed his mouth against the shell of Louis’ ear.

 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he has you so convinced.”

 

Harry rocked Louis a little in his arms, a hand wrapped around his bare waist and squeezing him gently in an effort to comfort but then Louis started to shiver in his arms, the frostiness of the hotel room clinging to his bones.

 

“Cold baby?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

 

Louis didn’t protest, reaching for the doona behind Harry to cloak himself in warmth but Harry refused to give him up, pulling him into a tighter embrace and snuggling him closer to keep him warm. He encircled his arms tight around Louis and pressed the softness of his cheek to the top of Louis’ hair.

 

“He’s a fucking twit,” Harry said, his voice too loud in the quiet of the room, “and if you’d just let me go the police--“

 

“No, Harry _please_ ,” Louis sobbed wildly, tucking his head underneath Harry’s chin and scooting closer, so close that their bodies could almost be one, “please just--just can you…” Louis sighed, his fingers clutching Harry’s shoulder as he nuzzled Harry’s neck, “just…hold me. I mean unless--“

 

“Of course I’ll hold you,” Harry whispered, petting the back of Louis’ hair as he lay back against the pillow, taking Louis with him.

 

He pulled the doona up over them as Louis’ wet blue eyes looked up at him with devastation and a weariness that Harry sensed was bone deep. Louis’ soul must be so tired of aching. Harry drew soothing circles on the small of his back as Louis hummed and pushed his chin across Harry’s pec, snuggling close.

 

“Am I--am I really that difficult to…” Louis’ voice trailed off, his head falling against Harry’s chest. Harry felt the resulting warmth of Louis’ tears leaking across his skin, “I mean...why wasn’t I good enough? Why aren’t I good enough?”

 

Harry remembers the quiet hiccup that had marked the end of Louis’ crying jag in the aftermath of Harry’s response. He remembers the way that Louis had burrowed into him, arms wrapped around his waist as he fell back asleep. Harry hadn’t known whether he’d said the right thing but it had been enough to soothe Louis’ mind to sleep and that’s all Harry could ask for in the wake of everything Louis had been through.

 

“You are,” Harry had argued, tone insistent, his voice laced with determination, “and he’ll be so sorry. So sorry he missed out on this,” he squeezed Louis’ waist, “on _you_ …because you’re beautiful Lou. And I don’t just mean your golden skin or your eyes or that smile that crinkles your skin and makes me want to smile too. I don’t just mean your tummy,” Harry’s fingers skittered across Louis’ waist to his precious navel, his voice slowing slightly as he tried to retain focus, “…or your bum or any of the things that make you pretty. Because you are. _So_ pretty darling. I mean _you_ , Louis. All of you. The way you make me laugh, the way you give your whole heart to everything you do, your love for your sisters and the way you light up for Liam….you’re,” Harry’s heart was in his throat as he finished what felt like a pretty obvious confession of his love, “you’re beautiful in ways that I didn’t know the universe would allow.”

 

When Louis had awoken from his slumber, Harry had packed their stuff while Louis ordered breakfast to go and then they’d gotten on a flight back to London without looking back. Louis kept trying to discretely check his phone while they waited to board, a frown touching his features at the lack of messages but once they were in the air, he gave himself over to honesty and rolled his head across the seat and onto Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Haz,” he had said, walking his fingers up Harry’s chest, to his neck and then finally burying his hand in Harry’s curls.

 

“You want something,” Harry concluded with a twitch of his mouth, tilting his head back and into the gentle massage.

 

Louis smiled but it didn’t touch his eyes.

 

“I don’t want to think,” he said with a scratchy voice, “just want to sleep. Can you--“Louis paused as he bit his lip and then nuzzled into Harry’s neck, pressing the quiet question into Harry’s jugular, “can you play with my hair…please?”

 

Harry didn’t need to be asked twice and Louis had fallen asleep quite quickly after that, the hand still tangled in Harry’s hair dropping down to rest against his shoulder, cupping it slightly. Harry put away the book he’d started and spent the rest of the flight playing with Louis’ hair and watching him sleep, his face the picture of innocence and devoid of any of the hurt that occupied it in waking hours.

 

….

 

“Did I thank you?” Jay says now, her eyes full of unshed tears as she grabs the side of Harry’s hand, curled around a mug and squeezes, “because you are a godsend Harry Styles.”

 

Harry waves her away, his eyes hooked into Louis as Louis brushes his finger against Doris’ tummy and then presses a gentle kiss there, his eyes lit up from within.

 

“Really,” Jay whispers in his ear, “I mean it.  There’s nobody I’d trust to look after my baby but you. And…if you’re not my son-in-law at some point in the future, I’ll be devastated.”

 

Harry’s heart picks up at that, a quiet gasp falling from his lips as his head whips around to look at her with shock. Her lips quirk just as subtly as Louis’ always seem to do and as she parts her dark hair, pulling it away from her sparkling eyes, she shrugs.

 

“You’ll have to ask Dan for permission when the time comes of course,” her eyes twinkle and Harry can’t see past the touched tears that blur his vision…can’t speak past the lump in his throat, “but you have my approval love. And his great grandmother’s ring of course.”

 

Harry lets out a choked and startled “thank you” and stumbles back to Louis, spilling half the tea in the process. When he hands Louis the mug, Louis looks up at him and quirks a curious eyebrow.

 

“What did mum do to you?” Louis asks, eyes playful, “ask for your hand in marriage?”

 

Harry chokes a little on nothing. _No_ , Harry thinks, _she just offered me yours_.

 

“Maybe,” Harry says with a sly smirk, “then I’d be a real Tomlinson.”

 

Doris begins to screech when Louis jostles her slightly because his hand flies out to smack Harry. Louis sighs as he brings her up to his shoulder and stands, swaying his body to calm her. He turns and sticks his tongue out at Harry but Harry just grins.

 

“I hate you,” Louis mouths but his eyes are all aglow.

 

“It’s mutual,” Harry mouths back, teeth showing.

 

 It’s just a wonder his nose doesn’t grow ten inches.

 

“Well…” humour dances around the corners of Louis’ lips as Doris continues to scream bloody murder, “at least we’ve discussed it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't put it at the start bc it would have been a bit of a spolier and bc I was only alerted to it quite recently (after finishing this fic) by a kind tumblr user who had read my fic. Anyway: I'm not the only one - sam smith is basically the theme song for this chapter and much of this fic :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. If you don’t know the “I’m a little teapot” song…look it up. I don’t actually know if it’s a thing in Britain but in Australia, it was definitely a common theme from my childhood.
> 
> 2\. I like Harry Potter and pitch perfect.
> 
> 3\. https://youtu.be/0put0_a--Ng
> 
> 4\. This chapter is completely from Louis’ POV which is not something I planned but I kind of like the way it turned out cause this chapter is super important in terms of Louis’ growing feelings for Harry. However if you like Harry’s POV better, I assure you that it will be back next chapter. 
> 
> 5\. I like cats and pretending that they talk.
> 
> 6\. If anyone is a T Swift fan, see if you can find the song reference in one of the many descriptions of Harry’s eyes.
> 
> 7\. Last but not least, this chapter was a huge undertaking because it’s so important to the story and I didn’t want to screw it up so feedback is ever so welcome as always. TALK TO ME PLEAAAAAAAASE. I am genuinely so grateful for all of you who read this and especially for those of you who have told me it means something to you or that you enjoy it. 200 kudos = a very, VERY appreciative fanfic writer :D

"You're what?!"  
  
"I'm moving next door."  
  
"With Harry?"  
  
"Ah...yeah."  
  
"Next door to your ex?"  
  
"Well he's not back yet and-"  
  
"Louis William Tomlinson, are you crazy?!"  
  
Louis' eyebrows bunch with confusion. He's sitting on the floor of his own flat surrounded by half packed belongings, on the phone to what sounds like a very irate Taylor and he can't make sense of it.  
  
"Um, no? What's your problem?" He questions, scratching helplessly at his chin, "I thought Harry was your new favourite person? Never mind the fact that you've only met him twice...every time I speak to you lately, you start raving."  
  
Taylor's sigh is loud, breathy and inescapably dramatic so Louis waits for the resulting lecture, even though he's got no idea in the slightest as to why he needs it.  
  
"Louis," she says.

  
Her tone indicates that she's about to tell him what's best for him whether he likes it or not.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I do love Harry. You _know_ I do. Why wouldn't I? When we went out that night, it was freaking adorable the way he looked at you. It was like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to ruin you or wrap you up in a blanket and cuddle you into submission."  
  
Louis rolls his eyes because Taylor always spouts these ridiculous speeches when she thinks that one of her rom com fantasies is within reach. It's happened before. It happened when he used to sleep around a bit more and Taylor thought every fit guy he took home was his future husband. She never seemed to take it well when he told her that, yes, fittie number ten or twelve or nineteen had a nice cock but not nice enough for him to want to put a ring on it (cue the timely Beyonce track.)  
  
"Taylor-"  
  
"I'm not finished! So, yes I love the guy and I'm pretty certain I can entrust him to take care of my best-  
  
"I don't need taking care of!" Louis denies hotly.  
  
"Best friend," Taylor continues, ignoring his outburst, "because he obviously has a thing for you..." Louis snorts. Taylor ignores him again, "but I just don't think this is the best idea. Not right now."  
  
"Why?" Louis questions, almost afraid to ask.  
  
"Because Lou," she bursts out with exasperation, "you've just ended things with Duncan and you're clearly in a fragile state." Louis huffs down the line and then squirms when Taylor comes back with, "oh shut up don't tell me you haven't watched the notebook at least twice by now."  
  
"So what if I'm going through a few things?" Louis grumbles, his irritation receding at the sound of distant music.  
  
Harry is listening to Vance Joy. Louis doesn't even realise he hasn't been listening to Taylor's response until she calls his name with exasperation.  
  
"Louis? Louis! Are you even listening to me?"  
  
"Um..."  
  
"That'd be a no," Taylor says in a clipped tone that fades away as she sighs again, this time with despair, "look babe, I'm gonna give it to you simple and straight, no pun intended. Harry is obvi gorgeous, you're gorgeous and you know what happens when two gorgeous people get stuck in close quarters?"  
  
Louis smirks at his own lap.  
  
"They start their own exclusive commune and prevent anyone else from entering their highly superior, gorgeous-people-only society?"  
  
"They hook up!" Taylor exclaims, ignoring his comment, "they end up in bed together. They do the nasty, get down and dirty, fornicate, have coitus, copulate, boff, romp...okay I'm running out, what else?"  
  
"Shag....you forgot shag. You Americans, honestly," Louis chides, "how did Calvin even understand that you wanted to do it with him?"  
  
"Stop distracting me."  
  
"You're the one who-"  
  
"The point is, Lou," her tone is sugary sweet now, as it always is when she knows she's about to piss him off royally, "that if you screw Harry, it'll screw with your head. Harry's too."  
  
"I'm not-"  
  
"Yeah babe, I get it. I get that you don't think it'll happen. I bet you scarcely realise how attracted to you are to him yet. That's the problem Lou. You're not ready to confront your own feelings for him and until you are, you cannot let anything happen. That's when it gets messy. I know you babe and I know that if you jump in before you're ready, you'll end up running away screaming when things get real. You'll break that poor guy's heart and he seems lovely. Worse than that, you'll break your own in the process."  
  
"Taylor," Louis says calmly, his throat blocked up by the sudden swelling of his heart. He's touched by her concern, however unnecessary, "I'm not going to break his heart or mine because I truly don't have feelings for him, regardless of whether I'm attracted to him. Nothing is going to happen I promise you. I can resist Harry Styles, okay?”  
  
"Okay..." Taylor says, clearly disbelieving, "but don't say I didn't warn you."  
  
"What's the worst that could happen?" Louis asks, ignoring his memories of the shower and the sea..."it's not like he's trying to woo me or anything."  
  
.....  
  
Louis could be forgiven for thinking that Harry might be trying to woo him. It's not that he thinks that Harry has any kind of romantic interest in him. It's just that their first week living together gets under his skin more than he'd care to admit and there's something about Harry that's noticeably different now that they're living together with Duncan out of their lives.

 

It starts the first night Louis stays there, with a look that lasts a beat too long as Harry reaches across the couch and links up their fingers for no god damn reason. Sure, at this point they've held hands way more than two platonic mates probably should have but there was always a need there...a desire to comfort or calm. This is just the two of them sitting on the couch watching X Factor with their hands fitted to each other while Harry drums a beat against the back of Louis' hand for no relevant reason. Louis feels warm all over and he's not sure it's in a good way. Taylor's words loom large in his head, persistently present despite his attempts to shake them off.  
  
"Thank you Haz," Louis finds himself saying, vocal chords swollen with something he smothers to the best of his ability, "thanks for letting me stay with you."  
  
Harry turns his head from the TV to smile at him with deeply set dimples and shining green eyes. His curls are held back by a purple and white tie-dyed head scarf and his similarly patterned shirt is open to his navel, exposing the black outline of his butterfly and that criminal set of abdominals. It's not fair. Not fair that Louis has to look at this angelic sculpture and be confined to this side of the couch. In that moment, he can admit...he wouldn't mind being fucked by Harry, wouldn't mind fucking Harry actually.

  
His eyes are drawn to Harry's large hands and his soft, fleshy lips that would fit so perfectly around his own thick cock. Louis' not a complete idiot so yes he can imagine a night spent riding Harry into the mattress, sweat pouring down his temples as he moans long and low. Then again, even if he senses it might just be different with Harry… that sex might feel like passion ignited instead of power being reasserted, when has sex ever been like that for him? Not in the last three years, or at least not when Duncan hadn't been in the mood to give. Even when he was, there was always that fear that the switch might be flipped and Louis would end up with a throat full of cock and scrabbling for breath.

 

Harry seems different, that's certain….but hadn't Duncan once been the gentle man who laid a pillow beneath his hips and ate him out until he saw stars?  Harry's not Duncan, he knows that much but it doesn't mean that Louis wouldn't be making the biggest mistake of his life by expecting things not to turn sour. Still, it's an imposition to sit here and know that they can't just resume their positions from the beach the other night. It's about more than the risk that things might not be as heavenly as Louis imagines. It's about the fact that Harry clearly hadn't been as into it as he had, pushing him away and saying something about how weird it would be for them to get off with each other. It's about the fact that Louis really doesn't feel anything more for Harry than friendship so why risk the good thing they've got going?  
  
"You're welcome," Harry says, bringing their linked hands up to his mouth.  
  
He softly kisses just below Louis' thumb and Louis squirms in his spot, itching to pull his fingers away. Why does every single touch travel like a current, through the entire network of nerves in his body, sizzling as it moves? Why does every touch suddenly feel that much more intimate now that Duncan's not in the picture?  
  
"When you said you didn't want to be alone, I knew that I didn't want you to be alone either and why not stay with me? I love having you here Lou, I really do."  
  
"Even when I eat all your biscuits and make fun of your mugs?"  
  
Harry's eyes twinkle, his mouth lifting higher as he winds his bigger thumb around Louis' smaller one and squeezes.  
  
"Even when you do those things, yes."  
  
"You're easy to please," Louis notes.  
  
"So they tell me," Harry says with a wink.  
  
Louis sniggers and digs his toes into the side of the couch.  
  
"Not much stamina then Styles?"   
  
Harry throws his head back and laughs from deep within his throat, his curls falling down his neck in folds of softness just begging to be touched and wound around Louis’ fingers. Louis doesn't move an inch. He's too busy trying to close his jaw because Harry's hand is now absentmindedly roving up over his stomach to his right nipple, covering it completely and _fuck_ , Louis is insanely jealous of that hand.  
  
"Mm," Harry hums as he tilts his head back up, his eyes flicking up and down Louis' body so purposefully that Louis' throat goes dry, "depends on the guy. Depends how fit. If he's real fit, I'll fuck him five ways to Sunday before I'm done with him. I'll drive into him for hours before I relinquish my hold."  
  
Louis' core is trembling and Harry is looking him dead in the eye with sparkling green eyes, making his stomach jump all over the place. He can't tell if that hint of something more in Harry's look is pure humour or pure desire. Whatever it is, it makes Louis stumble over his words like the embarrassingly juvenile idiot he is.  
  
"You're...you'd...you couldn't last hours Styles. Come off it."  
  
Harry raises an eyebrow and then continues to grip Louis' hand as he scoots over on the couch and leans in close, eyes on Louis' mouth. Louis starts to breathe hot and heavy, his toes tensing against the side of the couch as Harry's free hand comes up to frame the side of his face.  
  
"Wanna bet?"  
  
Louis lets out a loud rush of breath that fans over his lips, his blue eyes blown wide as he tries to quiet the pounding in his chest and halt the rush of blood to his groin. It's the stunned expression on Harry's face that finally startles him out of his daze and assists him in retrieving his composure. Harry looks positively startled himelf, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth falling open to catch flies. He wasn't expecting a response, Louis realises with shame. Harry clearly thought it would be fun to tease and flirt like the charmer he is but he hadn't...he hadn't actually meant any of it.

 

Remarkably, Louis finds that the thought doesn't sit too comfortably with him. Why doesn’t Harry _actually_ want him? Why isn't he attracted to Louis the way Louis is attracted to him and why is Louis currently struggling with the compulsion to jump his bones? It's not fucking fair....and then Harry laughs, pulling back to his side of the couch with amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. Louis could just punch him, he could just punch him for being so unaffected.

 

So yes Louis could be forgiven for thinking Harry is different with him now… that he just might be wreaking havoc with Louis' self-control on purpose. However he also knows that to Harry, there's no difference between this and say, FIFA. In the end it's all a bit of a fun with no designated purpose in mind. Louis is okay with it. Truly.  


Or he was. He was until things got progressively more intense from there. Thursday of that week, their second day living together, Harry wakes him up to the most luxurious breakfast Louis has ever had made for him. That's including the elaborate breakfasts Duncan used to make for him after he'd "accidentally" fallen asleep at work. _Accidentally, my arse_ , Louis thinks to himself as he eyes the tantalising dishes spread out over Harry's table which are piled high with glorious food. There's three different kinds of eggs (scrambled, boiled and fried) which are all steaming hot. Louis wonders where Harry is hiding his secret assistant. Not to mention there's also a pile of crispy bacon, a tower of smooth pancakes with maple syrup drizzling perfectly over the edge and two different kinds of cereal (corn flakes and fruit loops.)  
  
"God damn, I forgot," Harry says leaping up out of his chair and stumbling clumsily into his kitchen.  
  
When he returns, he's carrying a flowery China teapot and two little teacups on a shiny metal tray. He looks like a ripped, curly haired housewife and it’s weirdly enticing.

  
"You've got to be kidding me."  
  
Harry looks up at him from beneath his dark eyebrows with confusion, pouting just enough to tighten the strings of Louis' heart.  
  
"I'm a little teapot," Louis sings, purposely off key as he vows to chase away the pout.  
  
Harry's expression morphs from disgruntled to charmed. As he passes Louis to get round the table, he runs his hand down the back of Louis' hair to the base of his neck and squeezes. Louis' stomach most certainly does _not_ flip and his eyelashes do _not_ flutter.  
  
"It was my grandmother's," Harry says, patting the offensive item and smiling fondly at it, a quiet sense of pride in the glow of his eyes as Louis takes the seat opposite him. "I never met her but I like to think we would have been best friends. My dad never got along with her because she was more interested in the gardens than expanding our hold of property. It just makes me more certain that I really would have liked her, you know? I only wonder if she would have felt the same."  
  
Now Louis feels like even more of an arse for mocking him. Harry is precious, _so_ precious and Louis would do anything to erase the sad little quirk of his lips and make it a real one.  
  
"Haz, this breakfast is something else," he says lightly and then reaches out to cover Harry's hand on the teapot, "want me to pour us some tea love?"  
  
Harry lets him grasp the teapot, watching him with a distinct kind of wonder in eyes as Louis murmurs, almost to himself, "your grandmother would have loved you Harold. How could she not?"  
  
They eat in relative silence but Louis' bare feet end up trapped between Harry's larger ones, clothed in soft wool and their eyes graze each other's skin whenever the other isn't looking. It’s undeniable that it does funny things to Louis' insides but he can't quite get a read on Harry. Even when he finds the courage to meet the intense stare he feels directed his way, there is so much left unanswered in Harry’s gaze. The rising desire to know Harry’s thoughts slowly transitions into Louis wanting to shock a response out of him.  
  
When Harry is on his way out to go take pictures at a kid's party, Louis stops him by the door and pushes him semi-forcefully against the wall. Harry watches him with wide eyes and a startled, nervous smile. He's in ripped jeans and a snug cream pullover that looks stunning against the dark tips of his swallows, the dark of his hair contrasting similarly with the delicate, pale colour scheme. There’s a long cross necklace hung around his neck and as many assorted rings as his fingers will allow. He's all kinds of weird and wonderful. _Emphasis on the wonderful_ , Louis adds belatedly.  
  
"Something wrong Lou?" Harry asks as his thumb brushes over Louis' chin to the spot beside his ear.

 

The gentleness in his voice and the tenderness of his touch make Louis shiver. Then Harry’s eyes zone in on his charcoal tank and the way it hangs around his body, exposing his chest and the sides of his torso…the way it falls to the right to reveal the rosy pink of his nipple. Harry’s teeth drag against his lip as he bites down hard and Louis' had it up to here with this torture. He fits his hand to Harry's waist and it's like exhaling a huge breath of anxiety. It feels so extraordinary to touch and more than that, to let himself _feel_ each touch. It flows through his system, a wave of delicious sensation that floods his heart and stills the cynical chatter in his mind. His hand glides up Harry's side to just below his armpit and Harry repeats his name in a slightly more uneven tone, "Lou?"  
  
There's a butterfly in Louis' chest. It's unfurling it's wings for the first time, poised for flight and when Louis' thumb splays out, rubbing gently across the spot where he knows Harry's nipple rests, the butterfly launches itself into flight. Harry chokes on a breath and when Louis rubs the same spot again, he hisses between his teeth and grabs Louis' wrist to stop him.  
  
"Louis," he says in a low, dangerous tone, his eyes penetrating Louis' so deeply that Louis worries they might have burned through to the base of his skull. "I don't think nipple play is any more appropriate than rutting against each other in the sea."  
  
Harry wants it. Louis' never been more certain. Feelings are a whole other indeterminate matter altogether and Louis doesn't want to dissect what just might be longing beneath his own immediate sense of want. He can't bring himself to engage in the expansiveness of this feeling when there's every chance his desire for something a little more intimate might go unanswered. He leaves the buzzing in his veins to the wayside and attends selectively to the heat coursing through. He can't sense how _much_ Harry wants him and in what way but Louis knows that in this moment, he does. Louis knows now that whatever force is driving them together and rushing through his blood is just as active inside Harry. _He wants me_ , Louis registers again with shock. This sex on legs, sweetheart of a man with the Mick Jagger swagger and heartbreaker eyes wants _him_. _Louis_. Louis's not sure what's got into him and why in this moment, this other life he's lived for the past three years pales in significance to what's happening inside him but somehow, it does. Somehow every bruise, imprint of a nail, tear or harsh word falls away leaving only desire and a wish to be desired by Harry-hipster-Styles.  
  
"I'm sorry," Louis chokes out, sounding awfully wobbly. There's a litany of " _he wants me, he wants me, he wants me_..." playing in his head and tilting his world on its axis in the process, "I didn't mean to-"  
  
Harry abruptly catches his cheeks in his palms, his emerald eyes full and bulging with contrition. He also blushes something fierce.  
  
"Oh no, of course you didn't," Harry says swiftly, his thumbs brushing across the tops of Louis' cheekbones, "I'm so sorry Louis. I don't know what I…I just--never mind," Harry says with a sigh as he shakes his head, staring down at their feet as he releases Louis' face, "I should go."  
  
_No_. _No it wasn't you sweetheart_. _I did this…me._ Louis is on Harry before he can open the door, throwing his arms around his waist and burying his head in Harry's chest until Harry's arms slowly come around him too, his hand rising up to cup the base of Louis' head.  
  
"Lou?"  
  
Louis stretches up on his toes to press a kiss to the side of Harry's neck.  
  
"You're silly," he whispers, stroking Harry’s curls, "and daft," his hand drifts from Harry's curls to his mouth, his thumb brushing along the softness of Harry’s bottom lip, "and if you weren't my roommate…I'd disown you."  
  
Harry is out the door before Louis can so much as apologise for invading his personal space. Louis thinks of the brief look he got of Harry's eyes before he darted out the door. He thinks of the momentary flash of horror and unease he saw there and how easy it is to misinterpret the fact that someone might be attracted to you.

  
_Does he want me?_ He asks himself. Sure, Harry could have run away because he simply doesn't want to ruin their friendship but that doesn't explain the absolute horror in his eyes as if Louis had just threatened to behead his precious cockroach. Of course, that's when said cockroaches comes trotting over like a horse, batting his head against Louis' ankle until Louis gives in with a sigh and crouches down to pet the little fluffball’s head.  
  
"What do you think Hugh?" He asks, scratching behind Hugh Grant's ear and smiling at the resulting purr, "think your dad likes me at all babe?"  
  
Hugh Grant continues to purr near silently so Louis pulls his hand away, eliciting a perfectly timed meow from the cockroach's mouth.  
  
"Sounds like a yes to me."  
  
Louis' good mood only lasts so long. As long as it takes for another text from Duncan to show up on his phone while he's waiting at the parlour for his third appointment of the day.  
  
_Hope you received a good dicking like Sash did. Or has fuckwit already realised how much of a disappointment you are ?_  
  
Louis chokes on his tea. _Jealous_ … _he's just jealous,_ he tells himself. _Don't let it get to you. You're better off now_. It's not helping. Louis swears at himself and hunches over as his eyes start to well up and his body starts to tremble. How can somebody who once loved him so soulfully hate him this much? How can somebody who once curled up behind him in bed and pressed adoring kisses to his hair, want to hurt him this bad? Is he really that difficult to fall in love with or is it just that it's too difficult to _stay_ in love with him? Louis feels like his chest might be splitting open. Of course Harry wouldn't fucking want him and Louis probably scared him away forever with his stunt this morning. Harry's going to tell him to pack his bags, that's for sure. He'll be kind about it, all "I'm sorry it didn't work out" and "it just got too weird" but he won't think twice about shutting the door in Louis' face and God does Louis deserve it. What was he thinking coming onto Harry like that?  
  
"Guess who your 12:30 is?"  
  
Louis looks up from his spot by the counter and of course, just his luck, it’s fucking Harry…standing there with his cream pullover tied around his waist and a Rolling Stones top on underneath, his hair contained by a patchy black and white head scarf. He looks delicious, untouchable and suddenly…overwhelmingly sad.  
  
"Oh. Lou. You're crying," He says, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to cross the room, "what happened?"  
  
"N...n...nothing," Louis sniffs, frightfully unconvincing, as tears of shame well up in his eyes, "I'm fine  
Harry. W...w..what are you doing here?"  
  
"Appointment," Harry says in a normal tone but his thumbs are stroking along Louis' temples, the rest of his fingers sliding through the sides of Louis' hair to massage his head, "I booked under a false name…cause I'm Bond. James Bond." Harry waggles his eyebrows comically but his eyes are soft green pastures soothing the raw ache in Louis’ chest, "and I wanted to surprise you."  
  
"Y...you want another tattoo?" Louis manages with fewer wobbles in his voice, his pain near melting away at Harry's touch.  
  
Harry regards him more seriously now as he catches the last of Louis' tears with his thumbs and then squeezes his cheeks.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong sweetheart?"  
  
Louis' breath catches in his chest at the soft endearment but it's not enough. It's not enough to erase the hurt. He pretends anyway. He pretends he's not aching to be worthy.  
  
He shakes his head and Harry's expression fills with consternation.  
  
"I'm okay, I swear. Let's just...hop up on the table for me babe."  
  
Harry hesitates but then steps backward, stretching his hands out until he finds the bed and can lift himself up onto it while keeping his eyes on Louis.  
  
"So what did you have in mind?" Louis asks.  
  
Harry looks both self-satisfied and amused as his mouth tilts up at the corners and his eyes crease up at the sides.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I want you to pick something," Harry says reaching out and bopping Louis on the nose, “for me.”  
  
"What?" Louis' eyes go wide, "no Harry, I don't…I don’t do that. _No_."  
  
Harry's expression turns pleading as he grabs Louis' top in his fist and pulls to drag him closer.  
  
"C'mon Lou," he whines, full pout on display, "please."  
  
Louis won't budge. He pushes away from Harry and turns his back on that stupidly adorable expression, moving towards the bench to start cleaning up from his last appointment.  
  
"Harry, these things are fucking permanent you realise. I mean… do you know how much it costs to get them removed? Not to mention how much it hurts. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it for you."  
  
Louis jumps as Harry's hands land on his shoulders and he lowers his head down so that it hangs down beside Louis', his nose skimming along Louis' collar bone.  
  
"Please," he says in the tiniest voice and then lets his mouth press gently against Louis' skin, "please darling."  
  
"Stop," Louis breathes out through his nose, pushing Harry's head away with a more fond than exasperated huff. "Stop sucking up to me when you clearly didn't want anything to do with me this morning."  
  
Louis can almost hear Harry's frown in the silence and then Harry's arms come around his waist.  
  
"Is that why you won’t? Is that what this is about?"  
  
Harry squeezes him and then turns him around, pushing him up against the counter. Louis squeezes his bottom lip between his fingers, pulling it outward with agitation but Harry pulls his hand away and holds it, his other hand closing around the side of Louis’ jaw.  
  
"I didn't leave because I wanted to Louis."  
  
Louis snorts and rolls his eyes, Duncan's words still ringing in his ears as his cheeks fill with shameful colour. When did Harry gain the power to hurt him like this?  
  
"Oh really? Because it sure seemed like it."  
  
"Well maybe you misinterpreted," Harry says gently, his thumb tracing the arch of Louis' neck.  
  
It's unfairly soothing. It makes Louis arc up with anger. Anger at himself mostly because Harry's completely right, he did misinterpret.   
  
"Yeah exactly because I thought-"  
  
Harry's thumb is against his lips, blocking his speech, his eyes amused and yet somehow soft and pleading at the corners. How does he do that? How does he just wind up looking like a soft curly haired angel when he's got such sinful lips and sinful everything really? It's confusing as fuck.  
  
"I love how sassy you are. Especially since New York… but would you do me a favour and just listen for a sec?" Harry asks, a twinkle forming in his eye that lets Louis know that he might just be entirely too aware of the effect he's having with his earnestness, "please."  
  
"Go on then," Louis sighs, aiming for snippy as he clicks his fingers at Harry, "make it snappy."  
  
Harry's grin is too smug as his cheeks dimple…and Louis' not fooling anybody. Harry _knows_. He knows he's got Louis wrapped around his little finger when he's touching him like this and pleading with him like that.  
  
"Okay," Harry's hands reach down to his waist and squeezes as his eyes connect fully with Louis' buttery smooth and hot enough to melt well…butter. "Okay so you were touching me yeah? And it was nice. It _was_ and I like that we do that. We're platonic mates with no barriers between us, no lines to be crossed because we haven’t really drawn any. But..." Harry bites down hard on his lip and Louis waits for the newest round of rejection to settle in his chest, "but...I have sensitive nipples and you were touching and I was..." Harry goes bright pink, sheltering his eyes as he bows his head and his curls fall, "I was worked up. And then you got close, so close and I know...I know you didn't mean anything by it but well, my dick didn't know that. And you in a tank top, it's just..." Harry spreads his fingers in the air, his throat bobbing as his eyes drift to Louis' exposed sides, "a lot. Like too much. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorryI made you think-"  
  
Louis curls himself around Harry, brushing the curls from his eyes as he hugs him close.  
  
"Haz...did I mention you're the best roommate I've ever had?"  
  
Harry laughs, a little too loud and a little too relieved, against his hair.  
  
"You're just saying that because I made you breakfast," he whispers, his hand brushing Louis' lower back.  
  
"Damn straight," Louis sighs and ruffles the side of his hair.  
  
Harry grumbles but does nothing to stop him. Now who's wrapped around whose finger? _Take that Styles.  
_  
"Take what?"  
  
"Oh," Louis pulls back with a nervous laugh and heat filling his cheeks, "nothing."  
  
Harry shakes his head in defeated confusion as he walks over to the chair and gets back up, lying down and looking over at Louis with expectation.  
  
"So are you going to mark me up or what?"  
  
There are two ways to take that but Louis doesn't let it ruffle his feathers, gliding across the floor to look down at Harry with severity.  
  
"Only if you tell me what you want Styles."  
  
The double meaning is just as present in his own remark as Harry’s and Louis' eye might be twitching in his effort not to react.  
  
"No, Louuuuis. _Lou_. Hear me out," Harry says, as he bats his eyelashes up at Louis, too pretty for his own good. "I trust you. Do you think I would have asked you to move in with me if I didn't? Or that I would have let you meet my family so soon after I met you? I mean, my mother is the devil incarnate when she wants to be. Do you think I would have been okay with you walking into that hotel room to see Duncan knowing what I knew, knowing why we were really there if I didn’t trust you?"  
  
"Exactly!" Louis implores, tone on edge, "I lied to you Harry and whether you knew it or not, the fact of the matter is that I lied to get what I wanted. Not that I got what I wanted in the end but I'm just…I’m sorry. I need to say that. I'm sorry for lying to you. _God_ ," Louis shakes his head, his breath uneven, "you have no idea how sorry...but it doesn't change what happened… which brings me back to my point. How can you say you trust me? You can't trust me as far as you can throw me Harold."  
  
"I can, I do," Harry says with a furrowed brow and petulance in the unfairly stunning drop of his bottom lip, "and I could throw you pretty far. You're so tiny."  
  
"At this rate you're going to end up with a tramp stamp that reads ‘hipster dick only’ with an arrow pointed down towards your bum."  
  
Harry giggles into his closed fist and Louis' eyes scrunch up just a smidgeon at the sight.  
  
"Hey," Harry says, his lips closing over his teeth again as he smiles, a touch more subdued and curls his hand around Louis' hip, "I forgive you, you know? Nothing to forgive really because I was never mad. I understood why you did it and why it was important to you. I just worried. I just wanted the best for you. Still do, you know," Harry's soft grin is crooked and Louis' heartbeat is frightfully uneven, "and all I want is a little piece of you. Please. That's why I want you to pick."  
  
"Why?" Louis asks, mouth much too dry, “why do you want a little piece of me?”  
  
"Because I like the inside of your mind," Harry comments without pause, no signs of doubt in his tone as his fingers curl a little more tightly around Louis.  
  
_I like the inside of your mind_. The words echo and reverberate around Louis' brain, bouncing off old insecurities and shadows of insults whispered into his ear in the darkness of his own bedroom. Compliment wise, he’s been called everything under the sun from gorgeous to funny to "Kimmy K minus the vagina." He's _never_ had someone tell him that they like the way he thinks. He's never had someone put such faith in him and all of a sudden he feels a burning desire to earn it… to earn that place on Harry's skin and make it Harry's favourite tattoo.  
  
"It can be as small as you want," Harry adds like he knows Louis is two seconds from submission, "and you can do it wherever you want to. I trust you Louis. I trust you more than I've trusted anybody in a long time."  
  
Louis' breath hitches and Harry hears it, his head falling to his own shoulder as he gazes at Louis with what can only be described as pure fond.  
  
"I'll do it," Louis says through the lump in his throat, "I'll tattoo you with a creation of my own making."  
  
Harry's eyes are giddy and eager as Louis turns away to set up, his own skin buzzing.  
  
"So whereabouts Lou?"  
  
"Your hip," Louis says without thinking but then nods to himself because it is in fact the perfect spot.  
  
Louis spends the next twenty minutes on the tattoo, ordering Harry to close his eyes with a muttered " _shut up and close them Styles...I don't want to see your response until it's done_." When it _is_ done, Harry sits up in the chair, leaning over his own body to stare wide eyed at the ink printed along the line of his hip bone, curling just slightly around to the side.  
  
"Is that-" Harry's voice is hushed and full of awe.  
  
"It says, ‘ ** _HT_** _‘_ ”, Louis drags his thumb around the base of the ink, in between the bold black lettering and the thinner, cursive script beneath it, "and below it...all the love .xx."  
  
"What does-"  
  
"It mean?" Louis finishes and Harry nods with a fast jerk of his head that makes him look an awful lot like a bobble head poodle. "The HT...it means...." Louis keeps his eye on the thumb tracing Harry soft ivory skin as he continues, an undeniable patch of roughness in his tone, "Harry Tomlinson."  
  
Louis hears the hitch in Harry's breathing but he can't bring himself to look back up into his eyes just yet, lest he be met with the same disgust or unease he thought he saw this morning.  
  
"Be…because I promised you that you were one of us," Louis rushes to say, stumbling over his words, "but it could...I mean if it's weird, it could be like honorary Tomlinson or-"  
  
"No," Harry's voice is choked and so small and when Louis finally looks up, Harry is trembling with some kind of greater emotion that falls across his eyes in iridescent, shimmering showers of vulnerability. "No," he repeats with more conviction, "it's Harry Tomlinson."  
  
Louis smiles and tries not to feel the rush of warmth clogging up his arteries. The rush of warmth for this man whose vibrant green eyes remind him of some kind of magical wonderland. Louis falls deeper down the rabbit hole every time their eyes slot together.  
  
"Or if things change and you… I mean, if you change your mind," Louis clarifies, lips turned down at the mere thought, "you could tell people it means like...hairy tarantula or..." Louis’ suggestion trails off into a chuffed grin as Harry giggles, his green eyes lit up as brightly as Broadway, "like that one did ya?"  
  
Harry nods his head in a happy, childlike bob and his curls are so springy and ringlet-like today that Louis finds himself squeezing Harry's bare waist and darting in to kiss his temple without a second thought. Harry doesn't say anything but he traps the hand on his waist with his own and smiles wider, glowing from the inside out.  
  
"So," he says, voice thick as his eyes drag across Louis’, "what about the rest of it?"  
  
"Oh," Louis' eyes flick down to the second line of script, having forgotten its presence, "right. Um...it's...it's how we sign off cards and family emails and you...you do your kisses like that in your texts, don't you? And I just thought, I mean...."  
  
Why is Louis getting tongued tied now? Now of all times? After he just tattooed his own last name on to Harry's hip. This is the part he feels embarrassed about... _really? Get it together Tomlinson._ Maybe it's just because he can feel Harry's gaze boring into the underside of his chin as he concentrates on the fascinating ceiling. He gathers his composure again, approaching the subject from a new standpoint.  
  
"Did you know I never wanted Duncan to take my name?"  
  
Louis glances back at Harry and Harry looks just as confused as Louis expected, his forehead creased with it as he tilts his chin up at Louis.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because he never fit in with them," Harry's eyes fill with bewilderment as if he truly has no idea to which "them" Louis might be referring. Louis rolls his eyes but it's fond…always too fond, "my family," he clarifies, "he never fit in with my family. He didn't really try though, did he? He never wanted to be there with me...never understood why I wanted to be there at all. There was always an excuse to leave early or to not go at all. Always something better. I think he felt about my family the way he felt about me. He just wasn’t interested."  
  
"Oh Lou," Harry looks forlorn, "I'm so sorry. You deserved so much better. Somebody who loves your family like you do, somebody who sees how soft you are with them and laps up every minute of it cause it's _you_ and it's where you came from and ah-what did I say? Why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
" _This_ Haz," Louis says with a half smile, "this is why you're a Tomlinson in a way he could never be. This is why I put “all the love” beneath the initials...because you understand family in the same way we do despite never having had a whole one. I know you've got Gems but this is a fall back of sorts. This is so you know that wherever you are and whatever you'd doing… whenever you feel lost or your parents are making you feel small and unwanted....this is so you know that you have us. You have all the love in the world from my family. I know you've only met them twice but _my god_ , I saw the way mum looked at you and Lottie…I couldn't bloody count the stars in her eyes."  
  
"Lou-"  
  
Harry's tugging on the bottom of his tank but Louis' not done. He settles his hand in amongst Harry's curls and scratches, a soft smile on his lips.  
  
"My mum always said to me “freedom within, freedom without.”"  
  
Louis gulps because the lesson she taught him hits a little too close to home these days but he pushes through, determined to give back to Harry even half of what he's been given the past couple of weeks.  
  
"It was back in my school days when I was a rowdy, untamed youth and she just wanted to wring my neck for all the stupid things I would do. I was never satisfied with my lot, see? I wanted adventure and brilliance and everything in bright technicolour. I didn't understand how lucky I was just to have a mum who loved me the way she did and a home that was nearly always bursting with giggles and shining with glitter from my sister’s early experiments in makeup."  
  
Harry looks so touched by this and yet irreparably sad, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he gazes down at his new tattoo, brushing his own fingers over it with wistful longing. Louis' throat strains, his heart keening and all he wants is to see those dimples break through.  
  
"I felt I needed and perhaps even deserved more. But one day mum sits me down and says "you're chasing yourself in circles because you don't know what you want. Freedom within, freedom without boo. Once you figure out your own head and your own true desires…once you accept yourself for yourself...the world around you becomes a treasure.” And she was right. The woman was god damn spot on because when I went traveling and I found my passion in art, I found that freedom in my soul and everything was infinitely more beautiful.

 

“It sounds silly...contrived even but you have that Harry. You have it in a way I don't…not anymore. Because I don't know what I want. I don't know if I'm okay with who I am but I look at you and I know for a fact that you are. And so I...so I hope that I can be that, that I can be like you and that I can," Louis breathes out deeply, "change...and if you offer me your example, I will offer you a space in my family for as long as you want one. Because you belong. You belong with people who know how brilliant you are Harry. Harry Tomlinson. Or..." Louis flushes to his roots, "I mean you're still a Styles. Harry Styles-Tomlinson or Tomlinson-Styles or-"  
  
Louis flinches and cries out with surprise as Harry's arms close around him in a sudden embrace, causing him to falls down across Harry's body. Then Harry’s lips move against Louis’ throat, kissing his way up to Louis’ jaw and the startled cry transitions into helpless giggles as Harry teases around his stubble with the softness of his lips.  
  
"Harry," Louis giggles, pushing at Harry's shoulder, "Harry _stop_."  
  
Harry just tightens his arms around Louis and nuzzles the spot just below his chin. Louis can feel Harry's smile against his skin. When he finally pulls away, Louis looks down at him with wonder.  
  
"Harold are you--are you crying?"  
  
Harry shakes his head vehemently even though his mouth is creased up in a watery smile and his bottom lashes are too shiny to be anything other than wet. His eyes look like green water paint smudged around a canvas, all translucent and bright with happiness. It's a quiet, deeper kind of contentment that settles in his dimples and lifts the corners of his eyes.  
  
"No," Harry denies, his voice raw and wispy at the ends, "I'm just..." Harry rises half up off the chair and looks around, "where are you keeping the onions?"  
  
Louis chuckles and rubs at the corner of Harry's eye, collecting the wetness on his thumb.  
  
"I got you good, didn't I?" He says with a wink.  
  
"Shut it Tomlinson."  
  
"Mind the attitude Styles."  
  
Harry's eyes twinkle as he curls his finger in Louis' belt loop and tugs. With his other hand, he brushes over the HT on his hip.  
  
"Didn't you know?" He says, his whole face twitching into a grin, "I go by Tomlinson now."  
  
And _fuck it_ … fuck Louis’ own stupid decision because damn it if the sound of it doesn't knock the breath out of him in a whoosh. That's not going to get old anytime soon. It repeats in his mind like a siren...warning him, calling to him…letting him know that he can't escape his curly, green eyed fantasy forever. _Harry Tomlinson. Harry Tomlinson. Harry Tomlinson_. It's a pulse in the deep of his chest.  
  
......  
  
The next day is when things take a turn for the unexpected and Louis finds himself wondering if Taylor might've have been on to something. Feelings. The term seems too huge for his mind to wrap itself around just yet but there's definitely...something. There’s a heat in his bloodstream that he can't deny seems to coincide with Harry's presence.

 

 Sure, Harry is all kinds of wonderful and if this were a checklist, there wouldn't be a box he didn't tick but that's not how these things work, is it? Surely Louis is not ready to fall for somebody new. Not after all he's been through. Not when there's a part of him that still longs to do whatever it takes to prove to Duncan that he's in this and that he's worthy. He's not ready. Louis' not ready to submit to the tingles in his toes and the way his mouth yields and bends into a smile for Harry in a way it doesn't for the rest of the world. He's not ready for how breathless he feels when his eyes stray to Harry's mouth or how the back of his throat itches with how badly he wants to crawl into Harry's bed at night and burrow into his side. He's not ready for short heated kisses or tongues rolling around each other, slick and soft. He's not ready for curls between his thighs and the sound of " _Louis baby_ " moaned raggedly against his ear. He's not ready. He can't be. He still has nightmares about Duncan and falls asleep with wet eyes. Never mind the fact that sometimes as he drifts off, he swears he hears a forlorn sigh and feels a soft hand moving over his hair. It's too much. Too much, too soon and yet....and yet he finds himself pushed to his limits and still aching for more. He finds his hands reaching out to touch places that they shouldn't, his mind inching closer to a reality he's no longer sure he can deny. He finds his skin thrumming with the effort of holding back…the effort of containing just how much he wants. It's that Thursday that Louis finds himself groaning inwardly and debating pulling his hair out just to stem his emotions and keep his nagging urges at bay.  
  
Louis stumbles into the shower that morning with his eyes very nearly closed, his shirt absent and his hair a messy haystack upon his head. He sheds his briefs with a groan as they'd been biting into the softness of his hips and then slips into the shower. He's met with a sight of naked boy. Naked man, rather. His prick immediately thickens and perks up as the stream of water hits only his feet and he stares wide eyed at the gorgeous soaking hipster before him.  
  
"Oops," he squeaks, bracing himself with his hands on either side of the shower to ensure his legs don't buckle, "Harry, God I'm-"  
  
"Hi," Harry opens his eyes on a chuckle and steps closer so he's no longer being buffeted by the water, moisture dripping down his curls and the muscled planes of his skin, "still half asleep Lou? Didn't hear the shower?"  
  
Louis can't swallow. Boy, he’d really love to swallow Harry’s _\--fuck no, off topic_. Or is it? His mouth is so dry and Harry is so close that it would be only too easy for Louis to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down into a heated kiss. Louis intently studies the shape of Harry's face so he won't be tempted to look down and study the obscene curve of his dick.  
  
"No," he says, voice hoarse, "no I didn't hear the shower. I'll just-"  
  
Louis gestures towards the rest of the bathroom and takes a step back but Harry encircles his wrist, his green eyes all doe like and peaceful, his eyelashes clumped together with moisture and painting the edges of his eyes with a mesmerising darkness. He's too gorgeous to be legal and as he traces a vein in Louis’ wrist, it makes Louis splutter at nothing…or _not_ nothing because as he gazes at Harry in all his naked glory, his mind forms a rough, sultry whisper. _I want you inside me. Please._  
  
"Not yet," Harry says, his mouth hooked in a half smile. Louis' still scrambling for some semblance of calm as Harry reaches out and traces his upper lip with the tip of his finger, "might as well do my back while you're here."  
  
Isn't this the man that had objected so irrationally to Louis' skinny dipping expedition? Louis had been the one to convince him.  
  
With that half smile fogging up his eyes, Harry turns and places his hands up against the wall, his biceps bulging and his pert, velvety looking arse pointed out in Louis' direction. Louis wants his hands on it…and his fingers inside. He wants to taste…to drag the roughness of his tongue along the inside of Harry's walls and feel the tremble of Harry’s firm thighs around his own head. _Fuck_.  
  
Louis grabs the soap from the shelf with shaking fingers and starts soaping up Harry. He runs his hands across Harry's shoulder blades and over the planes of his back, absentmindedly massaging the tense muscles beneath his deft fingers as the water washes away the suds. When Harry's head falls back and he hums low in his throat, Louis steps closer and loosely wraps and arm around his waist. He leans in and plants a kiss on Harry's shoulder blade followed by the sensitive spot on his neck, just below his jaw. Harry shivers around his arm and leans his head on Louis’ shoulder as Louis runs a thumb over the soft pink flesh of his mouth.  
  
"Thank you," Harry says sweetly and Louis has to concentrate not to kiss him or to get hard as his dick accidentally brushes up against Harry's left bum cheek.  
  
"You're pretty," Louis tells him, feeling Harry's stomach muscles suck in with his breath, "prettier than any naked man I've ever showered with."  
  
Harry's eyelashes are caught mid blink, his mouth parted. His green eyes are caught in a tailspin, confused but...hopeful, like he wants to ask but can't bring himself to impose on Louis’ private thoughts.  
  
"Including Duncan," Louis affirms without even the slightest bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
A shy blush heats his skin as Harry gazes at him all wonderstruck.  
  
"Lou."  
  
His voice is swollen with emotion, all horse and perfect and so, so touched. _He deserves to know_ , Louis thinks to himself, _even if I can't tell him how much it aches not to kiss him, I can tell him this_. Louis' not certain of anything much in this moment but he _is_ certain of how very enchanting this Bambi eyed, giraffe of a man is. Especially when he's naked and glistening with moisture.  
  
"I'll be out there," Louis says with difficulty, his every vein straining just to press Harry against the wall and grind up against him, "I'll make you a cup of tea."  
  
Harry smiles gently at him, his eyes still screaming words Louis can't quite read. Louis turns and then exits the shower, not at all ashamed of the view he must be giving Harry. He pulls on his too tight briefs and then slips out the bathroom door, hoping he doesn't imagine the amusing sound of Harry knocking his head against the wall with a low groan of "lord have mercy."  
  
Once they're both dressed, Harry in khaki pants and a denim shirt rolled up to the elbows and Louis in light blue ripped jeans and a black tank, Louis slips back into the bathroom to do his hair. Harry calls out bye to him a few minutes later and Louis deems it safe to retrieve the eyeliner pencil from his pocket…the eyeliner pencil that he'd snuck back into his flat for and slipped into his jeans as Harry finished up in the shower earlier. When Louis had packed his stuff, he'd left almost everything but the bare necessities knowing there was scarcely room for it at Harry's flat and that there was a good chance Duncan would spend at least another week with his clandestine-or not so clandestine- lover.  
  
He emerges from the bathroom singing sex on fire under his breath as he reaches down the side of the couch looking for the book he'd co-opted from Harry and had fallen asleep reading last night.

 

The plot revolves around a man whose ex is a manipulative psycho that doesn't know what he's missing. Louis can relate. Or at least…he'd like to. He'd like to feel that kind of self-righteous self confidence that allows him to move on without reticence. Moving on is the only option, isn't it? Even Louis isn't hopeless enough to think Duncan could love him and betray him like that. Not the way he should love Louis anyway and isn’t that why Louis had held on so long? He thought Duncan was still in love with him. The truth is that moving on seems especially pertinent when he's around Harry… like Harry is the breath of fresh air he longs to take in but can't because his lungs won't open up a space in his chest.

 

Louis forgets all about the stupid book when two hands close around his hips and a much taller, larger frame settles behind him, leaning over with him so that there's a cock pressed up against his arse and heat curling around the base of his spine.  
  
"It's over by the TV," Harry whispers, low and affectionate, "I put it there after you fell asleep. Kept your page though."  
  
Louis turns around quick fast and stumbles away from Harry, dazed. Too much contact. It's _way_ too much contact.  
  
"I just forgot my-"  
  
Harry's words die in his throat and Louis is struck just as brainless by the sudden heat and reverence in Harry's look as his gaze sweeps Louis' face, studying his eyes intently.  
  
"-camera stand," Harry finishes.  
  
His eyes drop to the floor as if it hurts to look at Louis, his mouth pulled back in a sheepish grin that does nothing to lesson Louis' butterflies.  
  
"Sex on fire is right," Harry mutters, shaking his head at the floor.  
  
"Ah-"  
  
Harry seems to sense his confusion and he waves his hand at Louis' face, meeting Louis' eyes with a more defined smile.  
  
"Your eyes," he says, smiling softly, "you in eyeliner...with your ripped--and the tank, it's like...." Harry widens his eyes exaggeratedly and then laughs to himself, running a hand up and over his curls, "I've just never had a roommate as hot as you Lou. You look like a...” Harry swallows noisily, “like a tattooed, rough edged punk rocker or like a…a male model or just, _both_ and it's quite... I mean it's..."  
  
Harry seems at a loss for words and Louis finds himself wondering why he thought he still had to hide this part of himself from Harry. It’s the part of himself that likes eyeliner and nail polish…the part of himself that once purchased lacy black panties and relished the feel of them against his skin. Gender neutral...at least as far as fashion goes. Androgynous. He's never had any desire to house anything in his pants aside from cock but he's never denied himself the pleasure of stereotypically female adornments and accessories either.  
  
"Harry," Louis says with a forced chuckle, "you're absurd. But thank you love, you look nice too."  
  
And he does. His hair is already windswept just from that short trip outside and the ends of it are curling around his chin. His shirt exposes too much chest as usual but Louis would love to skim his nose down that column of skin and inhale the clean, masculine scent.  
  
"What are you doing today?" Harry asks him suddenly, eyes still roving up and down his body with considerable intensity.  
  
"Ah, I've got a session at like four but I was thinking of hitting the gym-"  
  
Harry hisses his disapproval, shaking his head and stepping into Louis' space again. He grabs Louis' hand and starts to pull him toward the door.  
  
"Harry, what the fuck?" Louis says, too on edge to be polite, "what are you doing?"  
  
Harry turns back to him and steps close, their toes brushing as he brings his hands up to frame Louis' cheeks as he seems so fond of doing.  
  
"You're not going to the gym," Harry shakes his head, his tone sombre and his brows bunched together with disapproval, "not when you look like that. You don't waste this on a bunch of sweaty guys at the gym."  
  
Louis giggles despite himself and then brushes his thumb across the swell of Harry's dimpled cheek, his eyes playful.  
  
"Where are we going then hipster?"  
  
"You're coming to the yacht club event I'm booked at and you're going to talk to all the boring rich people while they fawn over you. The men _and_ the women. Then, I'm taking you out. For lunch. I mean…not like a--"  
  
Harry's eyes widen and his throat bobs as Louis finishes the sentence in his head with a disappointed sigh, " _not like a date_." _Why not Harold?_ He longs to ask. Is he that distasteful that Harry couldn't possibly imagine taking him out for real?  
  
"It's okay Haz," Louis gently cups the side of his neck and squeezes, "I understand what you meant. Platonic friend date."  
  
Harry's eyes are on his collar bones, tracing the " _it is what it is_ " as he responds.  
  
"Platonic, yes. Exactly."  
  
"Well lead the way hipster," Louis teases, gesturing to the door.  
  
Harry's dimpled smile returns and he leads Louis to the car with his smile spreading to his eyes.  
  
.....  
  
Louis is fucking bored. The people at this party are the most humdrum, dull bunch of jerk wads he's ever had the not-so-much-pleasurable experience of associating with. He should have known, given that these are the kinds of people that are free to drink cordon blurgh…or whatever it's called, at eleven on a Thursday because they don't have to attend work. Everything is a whim and a celebration when you own a multi-billion dollar company and have just as many minions to do your bidding as you do transparent, conniving friends to invite to your parties.  
  
Louis had heard it all from Lady Rochester who " _really shouldn't be drinking at this unearthly hour but what it is they say dear? It's happy hour somewhere_." Lady Rochester was less of a kind and cordial lady and more of a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing if you will. From the tattered edges of her floral yellow fascinator and the slight bitter curl to her smile, Louis was more than willing to bet that Lady Rochester came from a working class background and had slept her way to the top of the social hierarchy...or at least that's what she'd planned. The women here could probably tell a high class socialite from a wannabe housewife playing at one and while Louis felt sorry for anyone who was that much of an outsider, he'd wanted out of the conversation from the moment she latched onto him with her fiery red (but chipped, mind you) talons.

  
"Mr Big Shot, that's what the ladies and I call him," Lady Rochester had informed him, trying to lump herself in with the impeccably dressed circle of women who stood on the opposite side of the room, imperious eyes narrowed with distaste as they looked her up and down.  
  
"Successful, is he?" Louis prompted, a little bit of pity preventing him from shooing her away despite the overwhelmingly strong scent of her cheap perfume.  
  
"Oh the most successful man in all of London, I'd say," she bobbed her head enthusiastically, happy to have a willing participant in her gossip session, "but he's not well liked, is he? Bit of a pompous arse if you ask me. His wife is always turning up to these things with her eyes on the floor and her dress down to her heels. Jealous little man, you see. He keeps her real close. Chains her up at night, someone told me. Friend of a friend so of course you can't always trust what you hear but then what it is they say dear? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I keep 'im real close, don't I? Gotta keep an eye out in case she comes to these things bearing bruises."  
  
Louis highly doubts that Lady Rochester is motivated by anything but the scent of money and how mouth wateringly close she feels to it when she's occupying a room like this, sharing trivial gossip with strangers and pretending she has the right to pass judgement on her fellow attendees because she "knows" them. He highly doubts that even if the man's wife _had_ copped abuse, that Lady Rochester would have the gall to say something and risk being cast out. No, this woman is a cheap gossip monger whose livelihood relies upon her superiors lending her a spot in their circles out of pure charity. Charity and reciprocity. He's almost certain that her plastic breasts and surgically enhanced lips have been bedded by more than half the married men here.  
  
It's safe to say that when Lady Rochester had to " _retire to the lavatory for just a moment dear_ ," Louis jumped at the opportunity to make his escape. However things only got worse from there. Louis had no idea where Harry had got to but after he'd slipped into the crowd with his camera, Louis had lost sight of him and hadn't seen him again.

 

Several more conversations transpired between him and some of the older gentleman there, who were, more so than the women, the ones who fawned over him. Not only were there at least three old geezers who felt up his bum and gazed at him a little too closely when he spoke but there were another two in a different conversation circle who continued to whisper to each other and make eyes at him. He wouldn't have been surprised if they were debating the merits of a covert threesome. Louis was not up for that…not one bit, so he changed direction in the crowd and ended up in a conversation that covered everything from the stock market to the economic state of the country and how it compared with the rest of the world. In other words, very little. The conversation never strayed from money and Louis was very nearly bored to tears.  
  
So now Louis is riding solo, a bit too much champagne swishing around his stomach as he stands in his corner and sucks on a strawberry from a passing waiter, trying not to be bothered about the fact that he hasn't seen Harry in two hours. _It's fine_ , he tells himself, _he has a job to do_. _You don't honestly expect him to babysit you, do you_?

 

It was just that he can’t stop thinking about the way Harry kept looking over at him on the way to the venue, one hand on the wheel and his other resting heavily and perhaps a little possessively, over Louis' thigh as they drove. As they walked up to the entrance, Harry’s eyes had continuously rolled over Louis' body in slow, burning waves that made his blood sing. It had stirred something deep within him. Something that while Louis wasn't sure he was ready to admit to aloud, he was almost definitely ready to explore. Now he’s been left feeling dejected and forgotten in the corner of a room and he's bored. He's fucking bored and not a soul his age cares that he's standing here sucking seductively on a strawberry with his tank flapping open to reveal his chest.  
  
"Hey cutie."  
  
Louis chokes on his strawberry and when he looks up, there's a tall blonde chucking as he reaches around and smacks Louis' back. The remnants of the strawberry go down but Louis is left with a nervous bubble in his throat as he blushes from head to toe and the blonde uses his thumb to wipe away the juice at the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Missed some," the blonde says with a wink and a swoon-worthy smile.  
  
He's attractive, that's for sure, with his lean, firm body clothed in a white linen shirt and his long legs trapped by tight midnight blue trousers that emphasise an impressive bulge. Not to mention the fact that his eyes are liquid blue and his skin looks like something out of an after acne treatment photoshoot.

  
"This place is full of assholes," the blonde says with a grin and okay, well he's preaching to the choir on that one. Louis cracks a smile, "but you don't look like the sort. Love your eyeliner by the way."  
  
He leans over Louis, his finger tracing the corner of Louis' eye as Louis affords him a slightly flirtatious smile. _What?_ The guy is model perfect after all and Louis can enjoy a compliment without feeling obliged to go home with the guy.  
  
"I'd like to take you home with me."

 

 _Shit fuck shit._  
  
"Ah-"  
  
"That won't be necessary.  
  
Louis can hear Harry but can't see him because Tall Blonde is blocking his way. Not anymore. Harry grips the guy's hip and pulls him away from Louis, his mouth twitching with annoyance as his eyes darken almost imperceptibly. _I know you,_ Louis thinks in a daze, _I know how your eyes tighten when you’re angry_. _Jealous_ , Louis thinks with a rush of emotion, _Harry’s jealous of Tall Blonde.  
  
_ "Um, excuse me?" Tall Blonde flashes Louis a look of confusion and then looks back to Harry with irritation, "I'm Paul. Who on earth are you? His boyfriend?"  
  
"No," Harry says smoothly but Louis can see the agitation growing, his pupils just a touch too wide, "I'm his roommate…and he already has a place to stay, a home to come home to."  
  
_With you_ , Louis keens inside, eyes on Harry and Harry only, _I only want to go home with you. Please take me home.  
_  
"Are you-" Paul turns to him with a conspirator's smirk like Louis might share his annoyance, "is this guy serious?"  
  
Louis wants to laugh with Paul. He wants to _want_ to go home with him. He certainly doesn't want to end up in another situation where the person he'd do anything for is constantly threatened by other men. Yet somehow Harry's different and Louis knows it. Perhaps because Louis can see Harry visibly trying to contain his jealousy, obvious in the way the thick vein at side of his throat pulses with determination and the way his chest rises markedly with each controlled breath. Perhaps it's just because Louis really isn't interested in going anywhere with anyone _but_ Harry and Harry seems to know, as Duncan wouldn’t have, that he isn't interested in Paul.

 

This isn't about control. Jealousy might be the emotion inciting Harry to act but he wouldn't have intervened unless he knew it was what Louis wanted or more importantly, what he needed. Harry is all class, even in the midst of jealousy and all Louis can hope is that the agitation on his face means something more. Something real. Louis doesn't know when he started hoping for that but he knows now that he does. He hopes Harry would be anguished if Louis went home with anybody else and not just because it's not the right thing for Louis but also because… because he wants Louis for himself.  
  
"Yes," Louis says, meeting Harry's eyes, "and he's right. It won't be necessary."  
  
Louis barely notices Paul slipping away because Harry slides his arms around him, his camera bag knocking against Louis' legs as he noses along Louis' hair line.  
  
"Are you okay?" He murmurs.  
  
Louis pushes him away with a confused head tilt.  
  
"I'm fine Harry. What-"  
  
"Was that not what you wanted?" Harry asks quickly, his expression panicked, "did I--did I interrupt when I shouldn't have? I'd just been," Harry swallows hard, "I'd been watching you. I mean cause I had to stick to certain circles…but I always knew where you were and then I saw you over here and I…I saw your face. I saw the way he looked at you and I knew…or I thought I-- I'm sorry. Did I make you feel guilty Lou? I did, didn't I? Louis if you really wanted to go home with him-"  
  
"Harry," Louis breaks out laughing, his hands reaching up to pet at Harry's curls, "Harry, you were fine. It was what I wanted...for you to save me, I mean. You're my hero babe. I only wish you'd been there when those creepy old men were groping my arse."  
  
Harry throws his head back on a laugh and then flattens his palm over the side of Louis' hair, mimicking Louis' gesture.  
  
"I did see that," he says with a smirk, "and I was thinking about telling them to keep their hands off buuuuut I had shots to take and then when I spotted you again, you were over here sucking strawberries into your mouth like you wanted somebody to come over and grope you."  
  
Louis' expression freezes over and his heart that was just now, bubbling happily like a brook, falls silent. _Ouch._ Harry think that Louis' asking for trouble...that he's a whore. Just like Duncan.  
  
"Oh Lou baby, no," Harry's hands grip his hair as his eyes saturate with sadness, "no sweetheart, _please_ don't look at me like that. I'm not him. I just meant--I wasn't--I wasn't like, jealous…but to see you move around the room, enchanting everybody in that way do...to see your mouth wrapped around this bulbous fruit, juice dribbling down your lip and...and the best thing I can do is take a photo? Like that's as close as I can get to you? It's...it's like torture. It's like...you know how you said you wish you could be with somebody like me?"  
  
Louis nods his head, held captive by the insistent plea in Harry’s eyes as Harry traces the curve of his chin with his thumb.  
  
"That's how I feel about you. That's why there's such deep envy within me when I'm not the one standing beside you."  
  
"You really took a photo of me?" Louis says stupidly, "you were really that entranced by it?"  
  
Yeah, Louis had stood in the corner thinking his consumption of the strawberry should have garnered him a little more attention than it had…but it was a gimmick. A trick. He hadn't really thought it was worth capturing. Harry smiles at him, the corners of his mouth curled up in something whimsical and warm. His eyes are two wistful pots of melted green as he rubs the strap of Louis' tank between two fingers.  
  
"You are the most stunning pseudo punk rocker that I have ever seen," he says, echoing Louis' words from that morning, "including Hugh Grant.” His smile breaks into an amused little grin as he continues, "your favourite cockroach looks almost as cute as you sucking on a strawberry…but not quite."  
  
Louis wants to push Harry away…or giggle, kiss him hard or just…tug on his curls until he moans, deep and dirty. He settles for smoothing out his collar and looking up at him from beneath his lashes.  
  
"Flattery will get you anywhere Styles," he says in a sultry tone, cackling delightedly at the way Harry blinks back at him, all glazed eyes and pouted lips.

 

Harry swats at him in retaliation but Louis just raises his eyebrows.

 

"Now when is lunch babe? Your muse needs to be fed."  
  
......  
  
Lunch is....nice. Louis shares funny stories from his childhood, like how he used to flush his vegetables down the toilet as soon as his mum turned her back or how he once thought it would be a good idea to play chasey down near the rock pools at the beach. He changed his mind when he stepped on a sea urchin and this guy, who he had a massive crush on at the time, laughed at him and made him walk back the whole way on his sore feet. Harry laughed at first but then in response to the petulant look on Louis' face, nudged his foot against Louis' ankle and breathed out, "I'd have carried you bridal style…no questions asked." It made Louis giggle, blush and natter like the hopelessly endeared idiot he'd suddenly become.  
  
He told Harry about how hard it had been when his dad first left and he used to hear his mum crying herself to sleep and how when she found out she was pregnant, it took her a while to get used to the prospect of doing it alone. Harry took his hand and kissed it softly, whispering how sorry he was for all that Jay and Louis had been through and more of the story just spilled out in a way that it never had with anybody else.

 

Louis explained how much he'd hated his dad for leaving them because suddenly it had been up to him to take care of his mum and as much as she tried to be strong for him, as much as she put on a brave front, Louis knew she was hurting. She carried on and when she met Dan, it was all butterflies and hunting for baby clothes but before then, Louis remembers too much take away and tucking himself into bed at night when Jay was working. It hadn't always been easy for them and Louis admitted with a shameful whisper that after his dad fist left, he'd been bitter about how lost Jay seemed...how broken she'd become. It took growing up and maturing for him to understand the kind of pain she must have suffered and how hard she tried to be the same person she was before his dad left.  
  
Louis explained the way Duncan made him feel and that there had just been something slightly different about him from the beginning that worked on Louis' heart like he hadn't expected. He supposes at that age, he was so used to male attention and people lining up to have a crack at wooing him that it had been a nice change to see someone who was so unapologetically himself and could admit it…or at least that's what Louis had thought then. Duncan had been charming because he didn't try too hard to charm and Louis had fallen in love for the first time and with someone who, really, looking back, had been all wrong for him to begin with. Hadn't Duncan hated everything Louis held dear?

 

Louis supposes even though he was cocky and arrogant, there was still a part of him, even then, that wasn't altogether whole. He shakes his head at the words, embarrassed but Harry draws it out of him, rubbing up and down his ankle with his foot. Back then, he still believed he was good looking, knew he was really but ever since his dad left, there was some part of him that hadn't felt like he could hold someone's attention indefinitely. There was some part of him that felt like he needed to overcompensate for whatever drove his father away and for whatever made everybody else think he was no good for more than a quick fuck or a fling. Sure, Louis hadn't encouraged anything more than that but no one had ever tried, not really. No one had ever wanted him that badly for something more. Not until Duncan and that's where it all went wrong.  
  
Harry had been quiet for a little bit after that but then had gradually opened up himself, explaining that his dad might as well have left for all that he had been there for him and Gemma. Harry had always been a tactile child but crawling into his parent's laps had been unacceptable, hugging their legs "inappropriate" and should Harry ever dare to call his mum "mummy," he was punished extensively. It made Louis' eyes tear and all he wanted was to go back in time and hold that little boy in his arms and promise him that it wasn't his fault… that he was good enough for somebody....that someday somebody was going to want to touch him and never stop. _Never_. Louis couldn't say those things, he could scarcely speak around his emotions…so he just cleared the curls from Harry's eyes and squeezed the base of his neck.  
  
From there, they discussed everything from their favourite childhood books to their most overt and embarrassing attempts at flirting with what turned out to be straight bartenders to get free drinks. Louis had near pissed himself with laughter at the description Harry provided of the way he'd sensually sucked on his bottom lip and asked the butch as anything bartender if he'd like a ride home after his shift. The bartender had quite politely informed him that Harry wasn't gaining backstage entry, if Harry knew what he meant, to which Harry had replied, "no problem mate. I can bottom too." Louis himself had been kicked out of a club for pulling the bartender away from his post and giving, or at least trying to give, the straight as fuck brunette a dirty lap dance. In Louis’ defence, the guy _was_ sporting a semi despite quite angrily insisting that he didn't do that "dirty cock in bum thing."  
  
"He really called it that?!" Harry had laughed, his dimples shaking, "that dirty cock in bum thing?"  
  
"Yep," Louis laughed too and then flashed Harry a purposefully salacious smirk, "damn I love that cock in bum thing."  
  
"Me too," Harry giggled and then settled his arms on the table, leaning close with mischief filling his expression, "but you know what's even better?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That tongue in bum thing," Harry pointed his finger at Louis and then clicked his tongue like he’d just remembered something, "rimming, I think it's called. Do you like rimming Lou?"  
  
Louis would like to sit on his face. _Fuck_. He must have been blushing to his roots and _god_ , he never used to blush before Harry Styles. The guy is incorrigible.  
  
"Mm," Louis had hummed as he rolled his ice around his glass with a speculative look before raising it to his lips, "getting eaten out makes me come untouched."  
  
Harry choked on nothing. Yes, Louis can play at that game too. Unfortunately Harry recovered sooner than Louis would have liked.  
  
"Just so you know," Harry said with a smirk, "I think any man who is lucky enough to earn a lap dance from you would be sporting _at least_ a semi. Gay, straight or blind," Louis raised an eyebrow and Harry chuckled, lowering his voice just a touch, "just saying… even the vision impaired could get off on the feel of you."  
  
_On the feel of you_. Louis had never been so hard in a public place before. The rest of lunch went just as swimmingly and by swimmingly, Louis means it pushed him to the very limits of his self-control…but Harry was smooth, funny and all the things Louis would want from a date if Harry hadn't been so quick to deny that it was one.

 

Louis ends up with a worse ache in his gut than before because as much as he enjoyed every minute, the urge to snog Harry's face off is getting harder to ignore. The longer he spends with Harry, the more he just wants to fuck Harry’s mouth with his own tongue and grind up against him until he comes. The more of Harry's life that he experiences and the more of Harry he gets to see, the more he wants and the longing simply isn’t waning. It's growing stronger. So strong that when Harry hooks his chin over Louis' shoulder that night while he's sitting cross legged on the couch reading, Louis has to push him away. It's either push him away or pull him closer and Louis' not sure he's ready for that. He's not sure it's what Harry wants, regardless of what their first week has been like.  
  
"Lou," Harry says and Louis raises his eyes from the novel to look at Harry, now curled up on the other side of the couch, "I was thinking of inviting the boys over for dinner tomorrow. Celebrate the fact that you moved in, you know. Like a house warming but..." Louis watches Harry purse his lips to contain his grin, "more like a Lou warming."  
  
Louis groans.  
  
"You're such a dork Styles."  
  
Harry squeezes his foot and Louis' lips twitch.  
  
"You love it Tomlinson."  
  
And fuck it if Harry's isn't 100% spot on.  
  
"I like your sister better than you."  
  
Harry's mouth drops open with offence.  
  
"You've only met her once!"  
  
"And she made a hell of an impression on me. Favourite Styles by far. In fact," Louis raises his eyebrows and smiles devilishly at Harry, "I'm thinking of replacing you with Gems. The new honorary Tomlinson."  
  
Harry's hand immediately covers the clothed tattoo on his hip. He looks positively scandalised.  
  
"But you promised," He pouts, "you said I was one of you."  
  
"Stop that," Louis frowns at him, "it's fucking adorable and you know it."  
  
Harry's disgruntled expression breaks into a toothy, boyish grin and his eyes light up with delight.  
  
"Is it?" He hums under his breath and then snags Louis' foot, dragging him down the couch amidst Louis' squeals, "am I adorable Lou?"  
  
Louis buffets his chest but Harry just tugs him easily into his lap and closes his arms around him, preventing him from hitting out.  He rubs his head up against the side of Louis' like a pathetic little puppy seeking attention. Louis giggles at the ticklish feeling produced by Harry's curls tracing his cheek.  
  
"Do I make you laugh Lou?" Harry presses a kiss to his collar bone and Louis' mouth is pressed into such a tight line to avoid a smile, "do I make you smile?"  
  
Louis wants to kill him. Instead he wraps his legs around Harry's waist and latches on tighter.  
  
"Carry me," he says in his tiniest voice.  
  
Harry pats the back of his hair and sounds amused when he responds.  
  
"Carry you where babe?"  
  
"To bed."  
  
"This is your bed darling," Harry says with a laugh.  
  
Louis laughs too but then pulls back and presses his own kiss to Harry's chest.  
  
"To your bed. Want to make a pillow castle."  
  
"A pillow castle?"  
  
Louis has dropped his head back to Harry's shoulder but he can hear the raised eyebrow.  
  
"A fort. You know, a blanket fort. A pillow castle.  A bedding kingdom. I can’t think of any other ways to say it. C'mon horsey, let's move."  
  
"I'm your horse?"  
  
Louis doesn't understand the hold up. He nods against Harry's shoulder.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Harry stands up, holding Louis to him.  
  
"Does that mean," he pauses and Louis pulls back to study his expression, twitching with humour, "you want to ride me?"  
  
_Fuck yes_.

 

Louis starts to reign blows on Harry's body but Harry just drops him on his bum and runs for it. _Fucker_. All in all, it's the most fun night Louis’ ever had with somebody he's lived with. They build the pillow fort in the living room and Harry feeds him biscuits as he mentions again that he was thinking of inviting the lads over for dinner the following night. Louis falls asleep with his head in Harry's lap and Harry's fingers threading through his hair. He lets a soft mutter of, "yes invite the boys over Haz," fall from his lips as he drifts off, followed shortly by a slurred and slightly nonsensical "but Lou's already warm." Harry's chuckle echoes in his dreams.  
  
......  
  
Friday is spent tattooing his two least favourite clients, who, despite finding them near unbearable, Louis has never refused. Truth be told, he pities them a little. Nathan is a closeted porn star who likes to describe his scenes in vivid detail… like how that big cock stretched his arse while he choked on another one. He's got plans for medical school in the states but he just doesn't have the funds to make the move yet, let alone fund his education.

 

As for the other, Sarah, she might just be the dullest person Louis' ever had to deal with. If he has to hear one more detailed retelling of what happened on escape to the country, he's going to go positively mad. When he leaves work at five, he's in a savage mood, swearing a bit too aggressively at a dick head who cuts him off on the road and flipping the bird at a man who takes about a century to cross the road, despite the fact that he's young, muscled and clearly capable of normal human speed.  
  
"I hate everything," Louis screeches dramatically, slamming the door of the flat behind him as he throws the Burberry coat he'd borrowed from Harry at the hook behind it and then growls as he’s forced to retrieve it from the floor.  
  
“I sincerely hope you don’t hate me….or your best mates.”  
  
Louis stops dead at the sight that befalls him. His and Harry’s doonas are spread out over Harry’s floor in place of the dining room table which is pushed up against the wall like it had been for Louis’ photoshoot. Niall is stretched out on his stomach on one doona, his feet kicking in the air while Harry is stood next to him, obviously having gotten up when Louis came in. On the other doona, Zayn is sitting with his feet curled sideways beneath him and Liam’s head in his lap as he traces Liam’s bicep with his fingers. Now that Louis has actually taken stock of his surroundings, he hears the soft music emanating from Harry’s phone resting in the iPod dock on the table. In addition to all that, in the middle of the boys there’s a pile of what looks like more than the daily, no… make that weekly, recommended intake of sugar and fat. Louis’ mouth is already watering. His feet are so sore from standing for hours on end and there’s a headache pulsing round his temples. It didn’t give him the right to come in here and shout like a crazy person but he’d kiss Harry’s feet just to get a square of chocolate on his tongue right now.  
  
“Oh fuck, sorry Haz. Lads,” Louis nods his head at the others, Zayn being the only one who acknowledges him as Liam is too focused on Zayn’s petting and Niall has his mouth stuffed full with crisps, “forgot about tonight.”  
  
“I know,” Harry says with a twinkle in his eye as he comes closer, “and I kind of got from your monosyllabic texts that you mightn’t be having the best day. Sooo instead of cooking a fabulous, gourmet meal like I’d planned, we kind of assembled all your favourite junk food and we’re just going to laze around on the floor. That sound good?”  
  
Harry opens his arms as he reaches Louis and Louis has only a second to wonder when they started greeting each other like this before he’s wrapping his arms around Harry in return and rubbing his head up against the softness of his dark hoodie. Louis shivers, suddenly cold in just his thin shirt, rolled to just past his wrists.  
  
“Sounds good,” Louis mumbles sleepily.  
  
“I’m sorry you had a bad day Lou,” Harry whispers for only him to here, squeezing him tighter and stroking the back of his head, “do you want my hoodie? You’re shivering babe.”  
  
Louis nods against Harry’s chest and Harry extricates himself from the hug, pulling the hoodie over his head and then holding it up over Louis’. Louis glares at him.  
  
“You don’t need to dress me in it.”  
  
“Arms up,” Harry orders him, his dimples in place, “let me take care of you for once.”  
  
Louis snorts loudly.  
  
“For once, yeah…right,” he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes for good measure.  
  
Harry tilts his chin up with a finger, a playful smirk making his lips dance at the edges.  
  
“There’s no need to get grouchy with me Lewis, I’m offering you my hoodie _and_ my share of junk food-“  
  
“You don’t even like junk food!”  
  
“-and with no sexual favours required.”  
  
“Not required,” Zayn calls out, “but desired nonetheless.”  
  
“This doesn’t concern you Malik,” Harry says, a faux threat if ever Louis heard one.  
  
He joins in anyway, winking at Harry as he narrows his eyes at Zayn and then tilts his head toward Liam.  
  
“Harry’s right mate. Go back to petting your kitten.”  
  
“Hey!” Liam protests, sounding too relaxed to be angry.  
  
“Don’t mind them babe,” Zayn leans down to press his mouth gently against Liam’s, “They’re just jealous yeah? Jealous of how adorable my kitten really is.”  
  
They all groan as they hear Liam start to swallow Zayn’s tongue and Niall makes a gagging noise as he pushes Zayn’s shoulder, much to Zayn’s annoyance.  
  
“Gross,” Niall complains, “Liam, I love you mate and I’m sorry to be crass but…do you have a magic dick or something? You must.”  
  
The four of them burst out laughing and Niall joins them a beat later, flushing red with pleasure.  
  
“Nope,” Liam looks up at Zayn and rubs a thumb over the dark shadow made by his stubble, “I do have a magic arse though.”  
  
“You don’t top?!” Louis gasps, dramatically.  
  
Harry giggles and then takes the opportunity to pull his hoodie over Louis’ head so that Louis has no choice but to stick his arms through the sleeves and growl as Harry pulls it down over his head.  
  
“You were so sure,” Harry guffaws, raising his pitch to mimic Louis’, “’bet you he doesn’t even let Zayn ride him. Probably likes to do all the work.””  
  
“Louis!” Liam exclaims, lifting his head just enough to look at Louis with horror, “you discussed our sex life?!”  
  
“You didn’t think I would top?” Zayn questions, clearly miffed, “how come?”  
  
Harry turns his back to Louis, facing the boys as he guides Louis behind him. Louis takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and rub his head up against Harry’s shoulder blade. It’s only because the soft cotton of his t-shirt feels so nice on Louis’ cheek.  
  
“Hey now,” Harry warns the other lads with laughter in his tone, “leave him alone.”  
  
“Now you’ve done it,” Niall mutters, “you two have awakened Harry’s crazy alter ego. Mr Protective to the rescue.”  
  
Louis stretches up on his toes and hooks his head over Harry’s shoulder to glare at Niall. Harry reaches back and holds his waist to keep him from falling and Niall raises an eyebrow at them both which makes Louis’ glare turn sharper.  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Louis says.  
  
“Not so much,” Zayn says with a thoughtful tone, “the brain of Harry has a default ‘protect Louis’ setting whenever he feels you’re threatened mate.”  
  
“Protect my little precious puppy at all costs,” Liam chimes in, imitating the deepness of Harry’s voice without lifting his head from Zayn’s knee.  
  
Louis storms over to the blanket picnic, tugging Harry along behind him. He roughly pushes Harry down next to Niall and then plants himself in Harry’s lap, reaching out for some crisps as Harry once again steadies him with an arm wrapped around his waist. Louis stuffs his face full for a full two minutes before he deigns to throw a crisp at Liam’s head.  
  
“I’m not his precious puppy you twat.”  
  
Harry squeezes his hip and then kisses the side of his face.  
  
“You kind of are sweetheart,” he chuckles, “you’re sitting in my lap.”  
  
“So?” Louis hisses, making to slide off next to him but Harry holds him tight, “I’m perfectly capable of sitting on my own.”  
  
Harry is the only one who doesn’t snort.  
  
“Pup,” Harry laughs, patting Louis’ thigh, “would you mind passing me a drink?”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Louis grumbles but he reaches out anyway.  
  
He hands Harry his cranberry juice and Harry presses another kiss to the base of his neck. Like it’s nothing. As if each touch of his lips doesn’t add heat to the flames already licking at the insides of Louis’ chest.  
  
“I didn’t even tell you! How did you know I like cranberry?”  
  
“You’re predictable Harold,” Louis informs him, patting his knee to soften the blow, “and you don’t like apple because it reminds you of piss. You like orange but only in the morning and tropical is too many flavours at once. You only like your fruits mixed in smoothies or salads.”  
  
The other lads might be staring, Harry too when Louis looks sideways at him, his head too close and his eyes glowing with something luminescent and soft. Something that makes Louis feel gooey and melted inside like the centre of a chocolate fountain.  
  
“You recited that. We only had that brief conversation-” Harry looks startled but awed as he pauses, his expression abruptly clearing, “are you a wizard Louis?”  
  
“No,” Louis smirks and then bops him on the nose, “but you are…you’re a wizard Harry.”  
  
“And a thumping good one at that, I’d wager,” Niall finishes.  
  
“Once you trade up a little.”  
  
Louis tilts his head back against Harry and laughs deep in his throat at Zayn’s quiet addition. His eyes meet Harry’s and Harry gingerly thumbs over the crinkles by his eyes, his smile affectionate and somewhat tender.  
  
“Bunch of losers we are,” Louis chortles, “but I love you awesome nerds.”  
  
“Pitch perfect?” Liam questions with a goofy grin aimed at Louis, “and you claimed you hadn’t seen it.”  
  
Louis’ voice is too high and none too convincing when he responds.  
  
“I might have watched a bit with Lottie while I drew some new designs.”  
  
“Which means he put down the pencil halfway through and ended up practising the cup song for hours,” Harry says, “isn’t that right Lou?”  
  
Louis stammers over his words.  
  
“H…how did you-“  
  
“You were drumming it against my thigh last night. Oh and…” Harry giggles and then slips his hand inside Louis’- or rather his own- jumper to lay his fingers across Louis’ stomach. “You kept singing it in your sleep too.”  
  
Louis groans while the rest of them laugh.  
  
“Tommo,” Liam says suddenly, an elated smile stretching over his lips, “I just wanted to say…I’m proud of you mate. I know we spoke about New York on the phone the other day but…”  
  
Liam shrugs as if to say, “I wanted to make sure you knew.”  
  
Louis smiles at him and then meanders over to the dining room table and grabs Harry’s phone.  
  
“What are you up to?” Harry asks.  
  
Louis smirks at him as ‘thrift shop’ begins to echo around the walls.  
  
“Just for you hipster.”  
  
Harry roars and launches himself across the room, stumbling a little on the edge of the doona because the guy has that little coordination. Louis giggles as Harry bars him in against the wall, his direct gaze following Louis’ head as he squirms and rolls it from side to side.  
  
“Think you’re funny, do you?”  
  
Louis bites his lip and pushes playfully at Harry’s stomach to get him to move. Harry doesn’t budge. Instead he steps closer so that their hips align and when he bends his head, their noses graze.  
  
“Maybe,” Louis says, his breath hitching a little.  
  
“You’re not,” Harry informs him, cupping the side of his neck with one hand and his waist with the other, “you’re a bore Louis Tomlinson.”  
  
_Kiss me_ , Louis pleads within, his back arching off the wall to bring them closer. _Kiss me Harry_. Harry either doesn’t get the message or he just chooses to ignore it. He pulls back off of Louis and then turns and fiddles with the phone, switching the song from thrift shop to a cover of ‘make you feel my love’ by Adele.  
  
“Cheesy,” Louis comments, pushing at Harry’s hip to get his attention, “bet you want to get married in a great big church with those funny rose tinted windows and the Virgin Mary watching over you. Don’t you Styles?”  
  
Louis is teasing but Harry clearly doesn’t share his humour. He turns to Louis with a thoughtful expression and then pulls him close, wrapping Louis’ arms around his neck and his own around Louis’ waist so that they’re moulded together. Louis barely notices Harry swaying them from side to side as he tilts his head back to study and perhaps, fawn just a little over Harry’s starry eyed, faraway expression. He’s a dreamer, there’s no two ways about it and Louis loves it, finds it endearing, compelling and perhaps even a little bit inspiring. He wants to believe in his own future the way Harry believes in his.  
  
“No,” Harry says softly, “I want to get married at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew. My parents had a church picked out even before I was born, of course. Something old and crusty that generations of Styles’ have sullied with marriages of convenience and weddings that were more likely about two empires coming together than they were, two families. That’s not what I want,” Harry squeezes Louis gently and it seems as though he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, “I want a rose petal aisle laid out on the grass and a flower crown in place of a veil. I want Gems by my side and my husband…” Harry’s voice goes soft and the room fades to nothing as his eyes fall to Louis’, glowing dimly, “I want his family to feel like mine.”  
  
Louis’ throat is constricted with emotion. Harry can’t possibly be alluding to what Louis _thinks_ he’s alluding to but… _god_. Louis buries his head in Harry’s chest and Harry’s hands find his hair.  
  
“I just want to see Hugh Grant dressed up in a matching tux and flower crown,” Louis says against Harry’s pec.  
  
Harry’s laughter shakes his whole body and then Louis feels thick lips against his hair, gently brushing his hairline.  
  
“I love the way you think,” Harry sighs, contended.  
  
Louis chuckles and then looks up at Harry with a smile in his eyes.  
  
“And I love your furry cockroach.”  
  
Harry gasps exaggeratedly. Louis rolls his eyes.  
  
“When you wake up to that _thing_ rubbing its face all over your bare tummy three mornings in a row, you kind of can’t help it.”  
  
Harry looks like he’s about to wet himself with glee.  
  
“That’s the cutest thing you’ve ever said,” he announces.  
  
“Oi, flirty boys,” Niall calls and Harry and Louis flip him off at the same time, sharing a conspirator’s grin as they do, “I don’t know what a furry cockroach is but Lou…mate, please refrain from complimenting Harry’s ah…assets…in front of us.”  
  
Niall sniggers as Louis bares his teeth and Harry pulls Louis back into his arms to prevent him from strangling the Irish prat currently occupying _his_ doona.  
  
“You’ve a one track mind Horan,” Louis comments instead, pouting up at Harry who looks annoyingly endeared by his put out expression, “and I don’t like it.”  
  
“You’ve a perfect arse Tommo and we _all_ like it.”  
  
“Don’t objectify him,” Harry says with an insistent and grouchy note in his voice as he presses his hand firmly to Louis’ lower back, bringing him closer, “and stop perving on his bum.”  
  
Louis raises an eyebrow at him. Harry himself has definitely commented on his best asset before.  
  
“’sif you don’t,” Niall laughs good-naturedly, “and I’m just winding you up H. You’re so easy.”  
  
Harry makes a “hmph” sound in his throat that curls Louis’ mouth and makes him sway Harry, guiding him back to their former movement. The song changes a few moments after that but Louis barely notices, too caught up in the way Harry’s hands feels on his back and working through the ends of his hair. When he next becomes aware of his surroundings, it’s late and though he hasn’t been asleep, he feels he may as well have been because there’s a sense that he’s been dancing with Harry far longer than he intended. When he leans back to look at his curly haired dance partner, Harry’s eyes are closed and there’s a serene smile on his lips. Louis twists in his arms and finds a depleted junk food collection and the doona picnic noticeably absent.  
  
“Where are the lads?”  
  
Harry opens his eyes slowly but his eyelids don’t rise more than halfway and that dazed smile remains on his lips.  
  
“They went home,” he hums distractedly, “told you bye. Liam patted you remember? You almost punched him out so the others decided not to come near.”  
  
Louis frowns and Harry traces the furrow between his eyebrows.  
  
“I almost punched him?”  
  
Harry chuckles sleepily.  
  
“He tried to pull you into a hug and you…resisted. I don’t know, you were pretty much catatonic. Didn’t realise my moves were that good Lou.”  
  
“Oh come off it, that did not happen.”  
  
“I swear to god,” Harry holds up three fingers and grins crookedly at Louis, “scout’s honour.”  
  
Louis steps back and crosses his arms but Harry just follows and lifts a hand to his chin, tracing the determined set of Louis’ jaw with the whispery soft kiss of his thumb.  
  
“Liam wasn’t too happy,” Harry muses, eyes glittering like two opal shaped emeralds, “but I quite enjoyed it.”  
  
Louis still doesn’t budge from his stiff position but he sighs and Harry clearly senses an easy victory. He brushes his thumb over Louis’ mouth, making him shiver as he leans forward, lips pressed to the shell of Louis’ ear and sings to him in a very breathy, much sexier imitation of Adele.  
  
“I could hold you for a _million_ years.”  
  
 If Louis doesn’t breathe in a second, he’s going to asphyxiate to death but… _fuck_. Harry is something else. Wonderful, maddening and ten kinds of terrifying. Louis can’t stop imagining those pouted lips opening up his own.  
  
“Goodnight Harry,” he says with difficulty, striding quickly away to the couch.  
  
Louis doesn’t turn at the sound of Harry’s footsteps or look back at the gentle touch of a hand on his lower back as he sets up his bed for the night.  
  
“Night Louis.”  
  
……  
  
“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this. This is sick Tommo.”  
  
Louis rolls his eyes and cringes only marginally at the pain of the needle dragging across his skin.  
  
“Yeah…well, you’re lucky I even invited you here. You’ve been worse than Harry in a record store.”  
  
Liam pauses his ministrations on Louis’ ankle to look up at him with a curious head tilt.  
  
“You ever been to a record store with Harry?”  
  
“No,” Louis shakes his head, “but you should have seen him this morning. Making pancakes and flouncing around the kitchen while he listened to The Supremes. The Surpremes Li!”  
  
“Don’t pretend you don’t adore it,” Liam says, finishing up the last stroke on Louis’ ankle and then turning to him with a questioning look, “now what?”  
  
“I don’t adore anything about Harold,” Louis lies, bending over his leg to look at the tiny black script on his olive skin, “give me a look. I want to ensure you haven’t screwed my tat up completely you twat.”  
  
“Arsehole,” Liam responds in kind, “and you’re a filthy liar. You almost took my head off last night. You’re fucking falling for the guy and you know it.”  
  
Louis gazes at the print on his skin with near childlike wonder. New tattoos have a way of opening up the rawest wounds in his chest and then sealing the hurt with a scar at the same time. He figured now was as good a time as any to get inked again, now…when all of his memories with Duncan are itching at his veins and prickling around the corners of his eyes. Louis’ week has been filled with Harry and everything that being around him entails, from the glow behind his eyes to the uncomfortable need slowly burning up his heart. However, it doesn’t mean he can put away everything that’s happened in a sparkly, sequined box and push it to the back of his mind. It doesn’t work that way. His dreams still belong to Duncan as do the wounds inside his chest and even if he’s slowly coming around to the idea of wanting a new life, it doesn’t mean he’s fully relinquished his hold on the old one.  
  
“I’m not,” Louis insists as Liam fixes up his bandage, “it’s only been a week since New York. I’m not even ready to-“  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
Louis eyes Liam with surprise. His tone is surprisingly forceful, his puppy dog eyes sharpened with reprimand.  
  
“How do I know…?”  
  
“How do you know you’re not ready?” Before Louis can protest, Liam shakes his head and reasserts his point, “No, forget that…I mean, how do you know that it matters? Forgive me mate but it seems to me that Harry’s been on your radar for more than a week…whether you’ll admit it or not. Ever since you moved into your place, you’ve been different. No you twat, shut your mouth and hear me out okay?” Louis shuts his mouth, “I’m not saying you won’t make mistakes or that you should rush into something you don’t feel you can handle. I mean you live with the guy already, you’d have to be fucking careful. But…I think you want him and I think…I think when are we ever really ready Lou? For love or for friendship. I mean you never saw Harry coming…never expected to gain Niall and Zayn as mates too. I mean, look at me,” Liam ducks his head, a bashful smile curving his mouth, “I never expected to fall in love with someone who would fall in love with me too.”  
  
“You fucker,” Louis grins and then shoves Liam’s shoulder as he chuckles, “why didn’t you tell me you told him and that he said it back?”  
  
“I dunno,” Liam scratches at the back of his neck, “I just know things are hard for you right now and I didn’t want to like, rub it in or-“  
  
“You’re a prat,” Louis’ still grinning like the Cheshire cat, “but I’m happy for you and fuck, as if I wouldn’t be Payno. You deserve it mate. You deserve to have dark haired, dark skinned babies with the longest eyelashes ever recorded on an infant.”  
  
Liam doesn’t look at all opposed to that idea as he chortles and then lets out a dreamy sigh. Louis grabs his water bottle, squirting it Liam’s way.  
  
“Childish fuck,” Liam points a finger at him, “no wonder you don’t want to admit you like Harry.”  
  
Louis squirts him again. Liam flips him the bird as he rubs the wetness out of his eyes.  
  
“You’re not helping your case mate. Why don’t you just ‘fess up? You want to take him to meet your mum, don’t you Tommo?”  
  
“He’s already-“  
  
Louis’ eyes widen just as Liam’s begin to glow with triumph and he barks a laugh, tugging on Louis’ ankle with glee.  
  
“So he’s met the parents,” Liam smirks, using his fingers to list the following items on his list, “he’s danced you round his living room. He cooks you fucking pancakes and bacon in your shared flat. Plus, let’s not forget his idea last night to hold a fucking “cheer up Louis party” in the middle of his flat with food he naturally despises. I think someone _definitely_ has a crush.”  
  
Louis hates the way his heart beats that much stronger as the tendrils of a smile threaten to sell him out. His heart is burning like a bonfire in his chest and _fuck_ , he can’t even deny that he wants it. Despite Liam calling out Harry instead of him, Louis most definitely feels like a teenage boy with his first crush. It’s been a long time since he felt like this. No, actually…he’s never felt like this. The realisation startles him as he notes that he never got this worked up over Duncan, not once. It had been exciting and all kinds of magical when he had begun to fall for Duncan as he’d never fallen for anybody before then but now…now it seems to pale in significance to how much he suddenly wants with Harry.  
  
“I think you swear too much,” Louis comments, idly picking at the thread bracelet Harry had tied around his wrist this morning, “it’s a bad habit.”  
  
Liam sighs impatiently and then smacks Louis around the side of the head. Louis retaliates with a similar move and they both look at each other, breathing heavily for a moment before they crack up into simultaneous laughter.  
  
“Nutters. Fucking nutters, we are.”  
  
Liam nods.  
  
“But seriously mate, are you trying to tell me there’s nothing going on, you know,” Liam waves his hand at Louis’ chest, “in there…because I’m telling you right now that with what I saw last night, at least one of you has to be arse over tits for the other, if not both.”  
  
Louis flicks Liam’s forehead much to his annoyance but Liam still refuses to grab the bait as he waits patiently for Louis to respond.  
  
“I like Harry,” Louis says into the quiet, heart beating wildly in his chest, “Li…I--I think I like him a lot. Too much. I don’t know if--“  
  
“He does.”  
  
Louis rolls his eyes.  
  
“You don’t know that he likes me. Harry’s in love with everybody. He’s in love with his damn cat for fuck’s sake.”  
  
Never mind the fact that Louis is a little bit in love with the cockroach too. Liam’s answer is to lean over Louis and pull him into a hug with Louis’ much smaller chest completely enfolded in Liam’s firm, muscled one, his much bigger arms holding Louis tight.  
  
“Look, I don’t know if either of you are prepared for where this thing could take you but I do know that the guy lit up like the Northern Lights when you texted him you were on your way home last night. I do know how happy he looked to be holding you when we left. For real, he nodded goodbye to me instead of raising a hand because honestly, I don’t think he could bear to take his hands off of you.”  
  
Liam pulls back too soon… too soon for Louis to pretend his eyes aren’t watering slightly and his cheeks aren’t pink with the rush of emotion swelling up in his chest. He feels like he’s about to lift off the floor and float away with how weightless he feels inside. It can’t be true. It simply can’t. Harry is too good for him, too special…but Louis’ never heard Liam speak so earnestly, as if he needs Louis to understand what he already knows.  
  
“Um, I--I’ll think about it,” Louis concedes with a trembling smile and he’s not sure there’s any avoiding thinking about it really… even if he really wanted to.  
  
“You do that mate,” Liam beams at him, “I can only imagine what he’d look like with your last name inked on his skin.”  
  
Louis decides not to mention that he’s already taken care of that.  
  
…….  
  
“Hey,” Harry greets him as he walks in the door, immediately coming to wrap his arms around Louis’ middle, “did you have a good time with Liam?”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis says quietly, insides melting in his chest as Harry tugs him over to the couch and into his lap, “it was good. I got my new tat.”  
  
Harry grins at him, ridiculously excited as he squeezes his waist.  
  
“Can I see? Please?”  
  
Louis huffs like it’s a nuisance when in truth, he enjoys humouring Harry’s requests more than just about anybody else’s. He scoots sideways off Harry’s lap and Harry frowns at him until Louis starts rolling up his jeans and peeling away the bandage to reveal his new tattoo. Harry looks awed as he reaches out to trail his fingertips along the edges.  
  
“ _Peace within_ ,” he reads and then looks up at Louis with a tentative smile, “Because your mum...?”  
  
“Because I know that’s what I need to work on and remember. Those words. It’s why my life has been bursting with hurt the last three years. I couldn’t find peace with myself so how could I sort out all the crap in my life? I don’t…I don’t know how to change…or even if it’s possible but I have to try. You know?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry nods and then smiles a quietly entranced smile, “yeah, I know.”  
  
…..  
  
“What are you doing love?”  
  
Louis leans his head back against the headrest to look at Harry leaning over him with a bemused smile on his pretty lips.  
  
“I was going to write to…my friend. He lives in… Australia.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry’s eyebrows turn inward, his smile even more confused as he ducks down and plants a kiss in Louis’ hair. Louis hums in response, “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m just going to make dinner.”  
  
“Okay,” Louis chirps, waiting for Harry’s footsteps to peter out before he bends back over the page again, pen in hand.  
  
_Dear Duncan_ , he writes, heart pounding, _I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now but there’s something I need to tell you. I was afraid of it at first, afraid of what it would mean for you and me but I can’t wait any longer than I already have. Here it is….  
_  
  
…..  


 

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry leans into Louis’ side, pressing their shoulders together as he eyes Louis with concern, “you look like you just saw a ghost.”  
  
“I did,” Louis says softly.  
  
……  
  
It had been Niall’s idea to go out drinking. He’d texted Harry and Harry had immediately looked down at Louis, who had his head nestled up against his stomach as he stretched out on the couch and read. Harry seemed to need no other stimulation than to plait Louis’ hair and watch it fall apart, too soft and shiny to stay bound without intervention.  
  
“Hey Lou, I know it’s a Sunday and you have an early client tomorrow but Nialler wants to get pints. Up for it?”  
  
“I’m up for it Harold,” Louis smiled up at him, stupidly bright, his whole chest swelling with affection because Harry’s fingers were massaging his scalp so gently and his other palm rested heavy on his stomach. “You, me and our boys. Happy days.”  
  
Harry grinned at him softly, cheeks dimpling as he rubbed his hand across Louis’ navel.  
  
“Have I mentioned how much I love it when you’re like this? All affectionate and happy. You and your happy crinkles, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry smoothed his thumb across said feature, still grinning as he let out a dramatic despairing sigh, “they’ll be the death of me.”  
  
A _nd you’ll be the death of me_ , Louis thought to himself as he got up off the couch to go get ready.  
  
……  
  
When they first got to the pub, Louis had been cheery and talkative, pulling each of the boys into tight hugs and sauntering over to the bar to buy the first round of drinks. He’d looked back to the table as he waited and found Harry’s eyes on him, a small but somehow deeply appreciative smile on his lips.

 

Harry looked like an absolute dream in his soft unbuttoned plaid which drew Louis’ eyes, as always, towards the necklace swinging between his pecs. His dark, worn jeans perfectly shaped the firmness of his long legs and lead down into his surprisingly new heeled boots. His curls hung in bouncy spirals and when Louis got back to their table and relieved himself of their drinks, he took the opportunity to lean over Harry and part his hair, tucking the curls that blocked his eyes just behind his ears. Harry’s eyes are lovely, okay? They should never be obstructed. Harry had smiled with that quiet and familiar glow of happiness heating up the green of his eyes and making Louis smile back, just as silly with joy in response. _It’s like you’re my mirror_ , Louis hummed under his breath, _my mirror staring back at me._  
  
All had been well as they argued over who would win the X Factor and whether it mattered if you won or not…  
  
“I just think that if you don’t win, yeah you might still make a record but there’s no guarantees you’ll be the act someone takes notice of. I mean, if you don’t win, you’re clearly not the best on offer.”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes at Liam. Liam, who thinks the difference between first and second is miles wide.  
  
“Or you’re just not suited to the target audience of x factor…or you haven’t gotten the opportunity to sing the right songs. Or you haven’t had enough vocal coaching yet or been marketed correctly or your fans just didn’t pick up the phone enough. Come off it Li, you know that the second or third place acts nearly always do better than the winners.”  
  
Liam still looked unconvinced but Zayn and Niall were nodding along with Louis.  
  
“Exactly,” Zayn said, “I think the fact that there are no guarantees is what spurs those acts on. I mean, if you don’t know where it’s going to lead and how far you can take it and you have to prove yourself to the music mogul that’s decided to back you, you’re probably going to work ten times as hard as the singer who gets it all on a silver platter and has the support of the country behind them. I don’t think those poor sods ever expect that they might not make it and a lot of the time, they don’t. Oftentimes it’s the people who get rejected and have to build themselves back up again.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were so passionate about this,” Liam said, side eyeing Zayn with plain adoration.  
  
Zayn chuckled and wrapped an arm around him, kissing his forehead with a loud, wet noise.  
  
“I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately I guess. Like how everything in my life came so freely…I never had to work for any of it. I was actually thinking that if I decide to travel, I want to do it backpacker style and I--I want you to come with me babe.”  
  
“Um,” Liam fish mouthed and Louis knocked his fist against Harry’s thigh under the table, identical grins lighting up their faces as they watched their mates navigate the minefield of love.  
  
“You don’t have to answer right now. I’m sorry to like…put you on the spot. Sorry I--“  
  
Liam swallowed Zayn’s apology with his lips as he hauled Zayn into a kiss and Niall groaned, Harry and Louis grimacing as the wet tangle of tongues reached their ears.  
  
“Fuck yeah, I’ll go with you,” Liam pulled back with a dopey grin, “I love you Z. I love you so much.”  
  
Zayn’s eyes softened further and he kissed Liam again, short and sweet, thank _god_.

  
“Love you too babe.”  
  
“Makes you sick, doesn’t it?” Niall asked, leaning around the table to knock his shoulder against Louis’.  
  
“Disgusting,” Harry and Louis said at the same time and then eyed each other with slightly manic grins on their faces.  
  
“Oh who am I kidding,” Niall moaned, taking a long swig of his drink, “you two are just as bad.”  
  
Louis squeezed Harry’s thigh beneath the table, his only response to Niall’s words, a serene smile that hopefully indicated to Harry just how very okay with it he was. He was okay with being grossly attuned to Harry and mirroring his words. He was perfectly okay with being compared to the tonsil hockey enthusiasts across from them if it meant that he had a chance….a chance with Harry. It’s fucking terrifying but as unsteady as Harry sometimes makes him feel, with his lingering looks and the coquettish fluttering of his eyelashes, Louis knows he’s never been as safe with anyone as he is with Harry. He’s never felt so sure of somebody’s value in his life.

  
That’s when his phone buzzed in his pocket and Louis pulled it out, still smiling to himself and at Harry before he looked down at the screen and his expression froze.  
  
_Wish I never saw u at Flanagan’s. Biggest mistake of my life._  
  
Louis had tried to pretend nothing was amiss at first, tucking the phone back into his pocket and throwing himself back into the conversation with renewed vigour. However the words kept circling, Duncan’s regret intermingling with his own and making it hard for him to understand whether Duncan wanting to undo their past was as horrible as it initially felt or whether it was exactly what he wanted too.

 

Louis just wanted to stop hurting. He wanted to stop thinking what if and wondering where he fucked up one too many times and pushed Duncan away. He wanted to stop asking why Duncan had needed somebody else so early on in their relationship. Why hadn’t Louis been good enough? Louis just wanted the pain to cease. Then, looking around the pub with its muted lighting and the round, wooden tables with the rickety legs and the mismatched chairs, Louis realised. _Flanagan’s_. They had come to the pub where he first met Duncan three years ago. The Deja Vu was crippling…dizzying even.  
  
“Hey, are you okay?” Harry had asked, “You look like you just saw a ghost.”  
  
“I did,” Louis said softly.

 

……  
  
Now Louis leans over the table, keeping his head down as his throat starts to ache and his eyes start to protrude with the effort of holding back his tears.  
  
“Hey…Tommo, are you okay?” Niall asks from beside him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.  
  
“Louis,” Harry whispers to him as Louis keeps his mouth firmly shut, “Lou…please tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
Louis doesn’t think he can hold it back much longer. His throat feels like it’s holding a lump the size of a boulder and all Louis can see as he looks down, is not the table in front of him but the look in Duncan’s eyes as he’d clicked his fingers and garnered the bartender’s attention at the drop of the hat. All he can remember is that terrible outfit Duncan wore and how he had looked at Louis’ legs, the heat in his eyes as he’d said, “ _nice jeans_.”

 

“ _If I were you, I would have hightailed it out of here by now_.”

 

 Maybe Louis should have, maybe-- _fuck_ , Louis can’t do this. He can’t be here in this bar or pub or whatever and not think of Duncan and everything they had…everything they lost.  
  
Louis’ breaths come thick and fast as he launches himself away from the table and weaves his way through the pub towards the exit, pushing outside into the darkness of London with an audible gasp. He drags himself over to the brick wall bordering the side of the bar and leans on it heavily, his fists clenched, as tears flood his cheeks and he curses…curses everything from Duncan to himself, to _fucking_ Flanagan’s.  
  
“Fucking shit,” he slams his fists against the wall, “fucking asshole,” he hits out again, his knuckles splitting open against the roughness of the wall, “fucking made a fool of yourself, you fucking--“  
  
“Louis,” Harry pants from behind him, obviously having chased him out, “Louis, _god_. You didn’t make a fool of yourself babe. The lads get it, okay? They don’t--they just worry.”  
  
Louis bangs his fists again, the impact jarring but ultimately relieving at the same time. His eyes continue to stream but the fissures of pain in his fingers distract him from the fissures of pain in his chest and under his skin. They distract him from the current of hurt currently coursing through his veins. Harry’s hands close over his as his front presses up against Louis’ back.  
  
“Louis, please,” he urges, lips pressed to Louis’ hair, “please stop. Just…just turn around. Can you face me please?”  
  
Louis does as asked, if only because the sound of Harry’s voice has some kind of hypnotically soothing effect on him that he can’t seem to resist or refuse. Harry sucks in a shocked breath at the sight of the blood spots around Louis’ knuckles and then he traces the tortured creases with his thumbs, holding the insides of Louis’ fingers like his life depends on it.  
  
“Why? Why did you-“  
  
“Flanagan’s,” Louis bursts out, “it’s where we met.”  
  
Harry’s eyes soften with understanding and he brings his hands to Louis’ cheeks, scrubbing away the tears with his thumbs.  
  
“It’s where I…it’s where this all started and I--I was just thinking whether I might take it all back if I could or whether…whether I’d always choose him. It just hurts Haz...I mean, when everything else fades and you go off to your room at night, it hurts so much I can’t breathe. It never really goes away,” Louis rasps, his voice cracking.  
  
Harry presses closer, the green of his eyes swallowed up by sadness.  
  
“It’s only been a week love. It’s not meant to get better yet. But I’m the idiot…because you’ve been doing so well that I--I thought maybe it had started to heal. I thought,” Harry shakes his head, an off centre, disillusioned smile on his lips, “I thought maybe living with me was good for it…for _you_ but if you still feel--“  
  
“Oh fuck,” Louis pushes his fingers against Harry’s mouth to halt his speech and Harry raises a confused eyebrow. “You need to know Haz…living with you has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. It _has_ helped. So you thought I was better? So what? So did I…and maybe I am…in some ways but it’s just…he’s _everywhere_. I can only escape him for so long.”  
  
“Close your eyes,” Harry says softly, thumbs gliding down the sides of Louis’ throat, “close your eyes for me Lou.”  
  
Louis’ breath stops short at the emotions currently intensifying the green of Harry’s eyes. He looks tortured, touched and oh so…bound… bound to Louis and tangled up in this moment unfolding between them. Louis closes his eyes as Harry cups the back of his neck, leaning him back against the wall so gently that Louis scarcely feels the movement.  
  
“You shouldn’t have to forget,” Harry whispers and Louis feels his breath against his throat, “not the way you fell in love or the way he made you feel. I know it hurts baby. I know how much it hurts because to think of the way you met is to think of what followed and everything you wanted and never had. I know you can’t choose your memories…but I need you to do something for me.”  
  
Louis opens his eyes just a fraction but Harry isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s poised over the hollow in Louis’ throat, his mouth just a fraction away.  
  
“What?” Louis exhales on a gasp as Harry’s lips open against his throat.  
  
“I need you to forget the way he made you feel when he stopped treating you the way you deserve,”  
  
Harry lifts his mouth off, making Louis whine low in his throat and leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. Then the thickness of his mouth settles back over a new patch of skin, slightly higher up and Louis’ eyes flutter closed, his dick twitching in his pants.  
  
“I need you to stop taking his words as gospel and raising them up as truth…when all they are is hatred misdirected away from himself,” Harry drags his mouth upward, trailing softness and wetness all along Louis’ throat and making him shiver with arousal, “I need you to stop memorialising him and live with me now. In this moment.”  
  
Harry holds the side of his neck in a gentle clasp as he moves in a diagonal line across the front of Louis’ neck, continuing to speak to him in between slow, lingering brushes of his mouth that bring Louis to the peak of something he’s never felt before. Something that makes him squirm, twisting his hips against the roughness of his wall as he lets out small, choked breaths that scarcely convey his aching need.  
  
“He’s going to be so sorry he lost you,” Harry rasps and Louis’ closed eyes fill with tears. “He’s going to regret ever marking your body baby because once he sees you happy, once he knows you’ve moved on…he’ll know he couldn’t destroy you. That he lost the best thing he ever had. He’ll look at his hands and see all the ways he hurt you, all the times he should have held you close instead of pushing you away.”  
  
“Harry,” Louis’ voice is on the verge of begging as overwhelmed tears trickle down his cheeks, his body heaving.  
  
Harry seemingly ignores him as his teeth graze Louis’ pulse point and Louis’ whole body suddenly rears up with want, his hands flying out to grip Harry’s shoulders as his breath hitches. Harry takes his hands and raises them above his head, moulding their fingers together as he sucks the skin around Louis’ pulse point into his mouth. Louis bucks up against him again, their hips rubbing against each other as Louis whines in his throat.  
  
“I want you to forget that he ever made you feel like you couldn’t be happy without him…but what do I want you to remember?” Harry brushes his thumb across Louis’ closed eyelids and Louis takes it as his cue to open them, “I want you to remember that you are, by far, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Harry’s thumb glides over his cheek, “the most beautiful thing I have ever felt,” it brushes over his lip and Louis’ heart thumps against his rib cage, his breath turning shallow, “the most beautiful man I have ever wanted.”  
  
Louis’ mouth goes slack, his body plaint and he shudders down to bones. He shudders because did Harry just say-- _fuck_. There’s soft music from the bar next door filling Louis’ ears, starlight illuminating Harry’s frightened eyes and Louis can’t remember ever thinking about anything but this moment and how much he wants to kiss the man before him. Harry mistakes his silence for horror and he turns away with a muffled “I’m sorry,” or what sounds muffled to Louis’ ears because his heart is pounding much too loud for much else to register.  
  
“No, _Harry_ ,” Louis reaches out and yanks him back by the hand, “ _please_.”  
  
Harry’s wide eyes jump over his own like a startled rabbit and his mouth parts with surprise. He clearly wasn’t expecting this. His cheeks are flushed with heat and he looks exquisite with his soft, thick curls forming half circles around his cheek bones and his Adam’s apple bobbing steadily in his throat.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Louis repeats, eyes tearing up as he cups Harry’s hips beneath his hands,“I _want_ you to.”  
  
“I can’t,” Harry gasps and Louis’ whole world starts to implode, his face crumpling in on itself, “Oh no, Louis I want to but--but not like this. I don’t want you to beg. Not now.”  
  
Louis frowns at him with confusion and Harry gently takes hold of his face, his huge hands splaying out so that half his fingers spill down Louis’ throat, the other half framing his cheeks.  
  
“You’ve spent the last three years begging, sweetheart. Begging for him to believe you, for him not to be angry with you, for him to love you. I don’t want you to ever have to beg for something you want. I want you to tell me… to ask. I can’t guarantee that I will always be able to give it to you but I just…I want you to know that what you want and what you need, it’s just as important. I don’t know what this--or if we—because I didn’t expect…but I want us to be equals Lou. Always.”  
  
Louis has never been so touched. He squeezes Harry’s hips and raises himself up to brush his forehead against Harry’s, watery blue eyes meeting awed and hopeful green. With a soft whisper, Louis releases every emotional compulsion and urge he’s experienced and systematically denied, not just in the last week but in the six or so weeks since he met Harry and persistently began to ignore their attraction. With one hushed whisper and a shaky breath, he concedes defeat. He can’t resist Harry Styles and he was a fool to think he could.  
  
“I want you to kiss me.”  
  
Harry sways into him, his fingers closing tighter around Louis’ cheeks as their bodies arch up into each other and their lips meet in a desperation collision of dizzying heat. Louis pulls on the nape of Harry’s neck as their lips brush, bringing him closer as their mouths curve around one another and Harry’s fingers slide into his hair. It sends shock waves of electricity through Louis’ veins, making his heart race in his ears as Harry rhythmically begins to rock his hips against Louis’, bringing their cocks into prolonged contact. Louis reaches around and grips his bum, holding him close as he bucks up into his groin. It’s only a matter of time before Louis’ tongue slips out of his mouth and licks along the seam of Harry’s, their lips coming together in a biting kiss that makes Harry moan and rocks his hips faster as he opens up his mouth to Louis’. Louis’ eyes roll in his head as Harry’s tongue drags along the inside of his mouth and at the same time, Harry hitches Louis up against the wall, rocking into him with a feverishness and wild urgency that’s hotter than anything Louis’ ever experienced.  
  
Louis licks along the sides of Harry’s mouth as he wraps his legs around his waist, squeezing Harry with his thighs and shivering continuously now as the sensations sky rocket in intensity. Harry breaks away from the kiss to mouth along the side of his throat, grazing his teeth over the spot just behind Louis’ ear before sucking it between his lips with a loud, wet noise that makes Louis’ cock jerk pitifully in his trousers and spill into his pants. _Pathetic._  
  
“Did you just come?” Harry gasps, settling his hands over Louis’ face and looking down at him with wonder.  
  
Louis’ cheeks flush as he nods, eyelids drooping low even as he continues to eye Harry’s mouth with barely concealed desire.  
  
“Fuck,” Harry swears, pulling Louis down against him by the bum, “You’re _so_ hot.”  
  
Louis barely has any time to think, let alone react before Harry’s mouth is on his again, Harry grinding desperately against him as he chases his own orgasm. Their tongues meet again and again, with slow, sucking wet kisses that leave Louis still aching for more despite the fact that he’s already come. Maybe it’s because it feels like he’s waited eons to kiss Harry. Maybe it’s because he wants more than his own orgasm. He wants the way Harry pants into his mouth, moaning against his throat as he skims his nose along the centre, inhaling Louis’ scent before closing his mouth over Louis’ collar bone and making him jerk in his hold. He wants the way Harry literally comes apart at the seams, shaking in and out of his orgasm as his face twitches but he continues to hold Louis’ gaze, determined to show him just how hot Louis makes him. It is, by far ,the sexiest thing Louis’ ever watched as Harry moans and jerks against him, warm wetness spreading through his trousers to Louis’.  
  
Harry isn’t done with him though, not by a long mile. He lets Louis down from his waist only to crowd him in against the wall once more and re-join their mouths, intertwining their fingers above Louis’ head as he sucks on Louis’ bottom lip and teases Louis’ tongue with his own. He fucks it in and out of Louis’ mouth in a slow, torturous glide that makes Louis’ head spin and his throat whine of its own accord.  
  
“You don’t know,” Harry says between kisses, “how long I have wanted,” he kisses Louis softer… slower and Louis’ heart cramps in his chest, “to kiss you,” Harry moves his mouth to Louis’ ear and Louis whines pathetically, “Louis Tomlinson.”  
  
Louis’ not sure how long they stay like that, fingers clenched around each other and mouths always coming back for more, brushing against each other with tenderness and awe which inevitably continues to transition back into loud, forceful kisses and a tangle of tongues that leaves Louis’ mouth feeling raw and bitten.

 Sometimes, Harry cups his cheeks as he trails his lips down Louis’ throat to his chest, sucking along his “ _it is what it is_ ” tattoo like it’s something he’s dreamed of doing all along. Sometimes he moves to suck on the edge of Louis’ earlobe and gently bite along the tender skin behind it, smoothing his thumb over the wetness that he leaves behind with a smug grin on his face that makes Louis grin too. Sometimes Louis wraps a leg around the backs of Harry’s knees and rocks into him once more, his limp dick twitching feebly in his pants spurting still more come as Louis moans and scrunches his fingers in Harry’s curls. Sometimes he kisses Harry close mouthed, just to tease, until Harry growls with frustration and starts licking along his lips like his mouth is a fucking ice cream and he’s deficient in dairy. Louis gives in and allows him entry time and again, his breath getting stuck in his chest in response to the way Harry’s tongue so quickly finds a rhythm with his own each time. Harry’s mouth tastes like the sweetness of his cocktail and Louis can’t get enough. It burns him up inside when Harry breaks away to groan, “fuck, your _mouth_ Louis,” against his ear, all desperate and deranged, like Louis’ kiss alone had the power to drive him mad. Louis can empathise. He’s truly never kissed anyone like this. He’s never _just_ kissed someone for what feels like hours. They kiss almost without pause until Harry physically takes a step back, still looking at him with wide eyed wonder.

  
“That was…” Harry looks flabbergasted, brushing his fingers over his puffy mouth like he can’t believe what just happened, “I mean, that was…”  
  
“I dunno about you,” Louis says with a cautious smile, “but that was fucking brilliant for me.”  
  
Harry nods, struck dumb and then he visibly gulps, swallowing some intense emotion that Louis would love to ask him about later. His blissful green eyes meet Louis’ and then he smiles. It’s the “I can’t believe I’m this lucky” kind of smile that Louis has always wished someone would direct his way. Louis’ knees feel weak and his eyes are wet with happiness.  
  
“I can’t believe that I just kissed you,” Harry breathes, an amused quirk dancing over the corner of his lips as his eyes fall to Louis’ mouth, “and I…I really want to kiss you again.”  
  
Louis chuckles and beckons to him with one finger.  
  
“Well c’mon Styles,” he rasps, unable to restrain his own emotion or to keep the longing from his voice, “come kiss me you fool."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene was inspired by this scene from the wedding date:  
> https://youtu.be/iwEtUE9-U2k
> 
> P.s Let me know if I completely messed up their first kiss :/
> 
> P.p.s I have uni exams coming up so while I'm not an "all work, no play" kind of person, I won't have as much time energy to put into this. However I promise I will keep working on it and that I'll do my best to keep the updates coming.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait again but like I said, uni and other stuffs gets in the way. Hopefully this makes up for it. Super long and with more than a dollop of cuteness.   
> Even if it takes me forever to reply sometimes, I love seeing my inbox fill up with comments. It's so lovely and I am so grateful so always tell me what you think, how you feel or just say hi :)   
> Got a chance to incorporate some original poetry in this chapter so woo :P  
> This chapter is quite Louis focused again but Harry's perspective is back like I promised c:   
> I like referencing things like The Princess Diaries, Beyonce, Ellie Goulding, One Direction themselves etc. The list goes on.   
> Oh and I think I mentioned but I like creatures of the feline variety.  
> Is this a weird form of summary/sneak peak? I guess so :P

_Jesus Christ. Louis. Oh. Oh god,_ _Louis. Jesus._

 

“I _do_ appreciate that you seem to equate me with Christ Styles,” Louis says, his glittering baby blues coming back into focus as he draws back from their steamy kiss, “but I had no idea you were such a talkative kisser.”

 

They’re still standing outside the pub with their bodies pressed flush against each other. Louis’ arms are linked around Harry’s neck as Harry’s fingers brush over his exquisite cheekbones and then melt into the softness of his hair. Kissing Louis is…it’s like that moment in a romantic comedy when all the tension between two romantic leads builds to a crescendo and they move towards each other, their eyes locked and with some predictably sappy music playing in the background. Then, it happens…their lips touch and sometimes it’s like watching a match burst into flame or a firework shooting up into the sky. Sometimes it’s the opposite. Sometimes it’s so deplorably anticlimactic and dispassionate that you find yourself deflating and wondering if they actually hated each other in real life.

 

Kissing Louis, however, is more than a match bursting into flame or a firework shooting up into darkness. It’s this force field of heat obliterating everything in their path while simultaneously sheltering them from the destruction, curling around their bodies in a heated embrace. It blocks out the universe burning to the ground around them while their bodies rub up against each other, mouths sharing breath as they make each other dizzy with bruising kisses. It’s a roaring fire deep within Harry’s chest that sparks heat all over his body and hasn’t stopped burning since the first moment he felt the softness of Louis’ lips press up against his.

 

Harry hadn’t been able to resist hauling Louis up against the wall and rocking against him, hadn’t be able to stop himself from losing control because Louis had come so quickly and it had been so erotic, aftershocks rocketing through his body even as he blushed and felt, _god can you believe it_ , shame. Harry couldn’t stop gazing at the length of Louis’ eyelashes and the way they caressed his skin like gossamer thread, only slightly obstructing Harry’s perfect view of the dazed, ethereal blue beneath. He couldn’t stop shuddering at the feel of Louis against him, warm and pliant and ever so soft. When Harry’s own orgasm had rolled through his system, he’d barely held in a rapturous sob. Still, he committed to keeping Louis’ gaze, showing him the breadth and intensity of his desire as he lost his mind to sensation.

 

Now they’ve been kissing for what feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. Harry is _this_ close to getting hard all over again and yet there are still stronger sensations unravelling inside. His heart might still be scrabbling to catch up, pounding against his ribcage as he attempts to swallow the emotion rising up his throat but he can’t quieten the buzz of his thoughts. Louis’ cheeks are flushed and his lips are puffy from Harry’s kiss. _Harry’s_. Not Duncan’s and not some douche-y blonde from the yacht club’s kiss, just Harry’s. _I want you to kiss me_. Harry wishes he could make a record out of the way Louis had said that, perhaps interspersed with the needy sounds Harry’s mouth had collected when his fingers slipped just below the back of Louis’ waistline. _Christ_. Harry is in way over his head.

 

“I’m not usually,” he says with a sheepish grin, “but this is quite the religious experience. I’ve never felt closer to god. In fact…” Harry lets a twinkle form in his eye as he leans forward and recaptures Louis’ mouth. He gently shapes his palm around the lovely softness of Louis’ cheek as Louis’ tongue meets his, slippery, smooth and so perfectly responsive. When Harry pulls away, his smile is near blinding because Louis looks downright lost and yet almost equally disgruntled at the absence of his lips, “I think I just saw God. _Felt_ him, if you will.”

 

“In my mouth?”

 

Louis raises a sceptical eyebrow at Harry, his mouth bending upward. Isn’t the strength in his voice stunning? Harry will take sarcastic and sassy over broken hearted any day of the week. The elfin like man before him is small in stature and petite enough that as Harry hoists him back up against the wall, he simply sighs his defeat and wraps his legs obediently around. Yet when those eyes glitter azure blue and that sharp tongue announces itself, Louis stands a hundred feet tall.

 

He’s insanely beautiful in this moment. The white glow of the streetlights illuminates the soft, caramel tones running through his hair and emphasises the obscene cut of his collar bones that are on full display in his criminally tight black t-shirt. His firm, denim clad legs are currently wrapped around Harry in a vice like grip and Harry simply can’t resist guiding his hands up Louis’ incredible thighs to settle on his bum while he pulls him away from the wall and closer to his chest.

 

“Yes, in your mouth,” he confirms with a wink, “whoever said God doesn’t love our kind has never had the pleasure of kissing you.”  


“Our kind?” Louis chortles and tugs on one of Harry’s curls, his teeth slipping out from behind his thin lips, “What are we aliens?”

 

“I dunno. We do love that ‘dirty cock in bum thing’ which is--“

 

Louis gives him a stern look and covers Harry’s mouth with his open palm.

 

“Don’t say it Harold.”

 

Harry lets his eyes droop down as he buries his head in Louis’ shoulder and nuzzles his neck with his curls. He knows Louis likes that even if he won’t come right out and say it.

 

“Oh stop it. Fine,” Louis tugs his head up by his hair, “you’re such a cheater.”  


Harry grins up at him, angelic dimples on full display as he uses the small of Louis’ back to pull him into a short kiss. Louis keeps a hand in his curls as Harry pulls away.

 

“As I was saying, we _love_ that dirty cock in bum thing which is… out of this world. Unearthly. Takes your oxygen aw-“

 

“Stop,” Louis giggles, kissing him sweetly on the mouth, “please stop.”

 

Harry can only smile softly at him, his gaze intent.

 

“Let’s get you home.”

 

“Harry, I--“

 

“To bed,” Harry says and then immediately rolls his eyes because it doesn’t sound any less suggestive, “…to _your_ bed, not mine.”

 

“Oh,” Louis laughs and then smacks his forehead with the heel of his palm, “idiot. Of course you don’t want to--“

 

“Hey, _no_ ,” Harry uses his grip on Louis’ waist to place him on the ground and settle his hands around the arch of Louis’ neck instead, “that’s not—I want you Lou. I mean…” Harry directs his gaze down to the distinct wet patch at the front of his jeans and Louis looks a touch smug, “obviously I want you,” Louis hiccups a little and presses closer, tracing a line up Harry’s chest with his finger, “but I don’t want to sleep with you on a whim. The next time I lie down with you and hold you close…” Harry chokes on his own emotions as Louis smiles encouragingly at him and moves in even closer, bringing their noses together in an intimate brush, “I want to feel certain. Certain that I know what you want and that it’s not…it’s not just a reaction to—“

 

“You’re not a rebound Harry,” Louis murmurs, gaze dropping to Harry’s mouth, “and you’re not my quick fix. I know we need to talk but just…trust me _please_ because I knew…” Louis’ gaze flickers so intensely over Harry’s features that it heats his skin all over again, “even when I didn’t want to know,” his breath fans out across Harry’s lips as he leans in and Harry’s breath hitches painfully in his chest as he waits with bated breath, “….that I was only ever dying to kiss you love.”

 

Harry slides his lips over Louis’ before Louis can even touch his. Louis pulls his mouth away much too soon and Harry chases his lips. Louis retracts further with glowing, slanted eyes.

 

“Let’s go home Haz,” he says, holding his hand out for Harry to take.

 

They have certainly held hands before this but not after snogging each other senseless for the first time. They haven’t done so when the act of holding hands feels like something secretly momentous that solidifies the glorious insanity of what just happened and yet equally when it feels ever so fragile, like Louis could just slip away into the night if Harry doesn’t take hold of his hand right now.

 

 _No_ , Harry’s heart beats heavily in his chest, _Louis’ not getting away now_. He’s not getting away without giving Harry a chance or at least knowing what it’s like to be blanketed in adoration instead of disgust. So Harry takes his hand, their fingers interlocked as Louis’ thumb crosses over his in a tight hold. Maybe Louis feels it too…the fear that if they don’t hold on tight enough, they might not be able to weather the storm. The thought that Louis might be just as determined as him to keep them from fracturing is enough to soothe most of Harry’s fears.

 

“We should say bye to the lads. Let them know you’re okay.”

 

“Um, okay.”

 

“Louis,” Harry bites down on a smile as he watches Louis twitch beneath his gaze, “are you nervous?”

 

“No,” Louis snaps, tugging on his hand to pull him towards the entrance to the pub, “let’s go.”

 

Harry pulls him back with a sharp tug, keeping hold of Louis’ hand as he leans down and brushes his mouth over his stiff frown, feeling it give way to softness as he gently tips Louis’ head back and sucks a little more insistently on his bottom lip. Their lips glide against each other, tongues rampant, as quiet sighs turn into breathless pants and Louis guides his hand up under Harry’s plaid shirt, roving across his abs to grip his waist and squeeze.

 

“We don’t have to tell them darling,” Harry breathes raggedly, breaking the kiss. Louis’ touch has affected him just as much, if not more than he has affected Louis, whose eyes are still glued to his lips, “if you want this to stay between us, I’m okay with that. We haven’t really talked yet and--“  


Louis silences him with another kiss that is sadly, rather short lived but his hand is still clamped around Harry beneath his shirt, his eyes glittering a fiercer blue than before.

 

“I’m nervous,” Louis nods, squeezing his hand, “but fuck, Harry, am I going to be scared for the rest of my life? Let’s just…let me do the talking yeah?”  


Harry nods his acceptance, completely stunned by the burst of brilliant bravery shining in Louis’ eyes while he tugs on Harry’s hand, his feet moving quickly and assuredly over the pavement as if he can’t wait to burst in there with Harry’s hand wrapped around his. Still it’s nothing compared to the way he marches over to the boys, Harry stumbling clumsily along behind him as he raises their hands for all the boys to see. Liam looks proud but overwhelmed. His eyes flick over to Harry almost instantly and he lets Harry know with a subtle nod that he trusts him with the infinitely precious man beside him.  Zayn looks like he’s about to open his mouth and make a wise crack and Niall…he just looks like he wants to jump across the table and clutch them both in a tight hug.

 

“Before you say anything,” Louis begins, absentmindedly running his thumb across Harry’s and unconsciously squeezing Harry’s heart in the process, “I’d like to tell you everything you need to know. I just had the best kiss I’ve ever had,” Harry gasps and Louis turns to him with a quiet grin, tugging him down by the neck and joining their mouths again. He swirls his tongue around Harry’s, just enough to tease, whispering, “I mean it. Best. Ever. The way you taste,” Louis sighs contentedly and licks across his own bottom lip. Harry’s thumb traces the path of his tongue but Louis’ not yet done ruining his composure, “and your hands… _fuck_.”

 

Zayn coughs under his breath and Louis’ eyes startle and widen. Harry chuckles and continues to trace the outside of his mouth with his thumb.

 

“Anyway….” Louis only half turns away as he talks to the boys, surrendering his face to Harry’s exploratory touch and perhaps it’s because he’s never been handled like fine china before. Perhaps he’s never been touched as if every inch of his skin is equally worthy of reverence and devotion which of course, it is. “Harold and I are not dating, we haven’t talked and yes we’re about to go home together…but not to have sex, not that it’s any of your business of course. Now, are we free to go?”

 

“You know you’re not getting away with that shitty explanation for more than tonight right?” Zayn asks, flicking his lighter out at Louis and then tilting his head at Liam, “your boy wants answers.”

 

“My boy?” Louis’ eyebrows arch high, “and here I was thinking that you two were dating. No? Well then Payno, what are you waiting for? Coming home with your lover and his tag along?”

 

"Tag along," Harry mumbles pathetically, "he'd be the tag along."  
  
Louis winks at him.  
  
"I know babe."  
  
"Not what I meant," Zayn says with a subtle snarl in his voice, tightening the arm that's wrapped protectively around Liam.  
  
"Forgive me," Louis says with amusement shimmering in his eyes.  
  
"Oh I will," Zayn's gaze shifts to Harry...or Harry's mouth, rather and then he winks suggestively, "after all, Harry and I have our own special history, don't we H? Remember when I kissed you and--"  
  
Surprisingly Louis is not the one to interrupt and his expression shows no signs of annoyance. He does tighten his hand on Harry’s though.  
  
"You kissed Harry?" Liam cries out, pulling himself out of Zayn's hold and turning away, "when? No, scratch that, why haven't you told me? Louis obviously knows."  
  
"Hey Liam mate, it was just a drunken snog, it wasn't like--"  
  
"H, stay out of this," Zayn orders him, eyes never leaving Liam's tightly controlled expression.  
  
"C'mon, babe," he pleads, pulling at Liam's turned hip, "please let's just talk about this."  
  
"Why?" Liam mutters darkly, "you didn't want to talk to me about it before. Why should I give you the chance now?"  
  
Zayn clicks his tongue, annoyed and then leans forward, mouthing urgently at the side of Liam's neck. Harry watches as Liam breathes determinedly out through his nose, trying to keep his composure while Zayn begins to whine with frustration. Harry's never heard him like this. It's pathetically adorable.  
  
"Because I love you and I'm sorry. Please baby, I'll..." Zayn coughs and then presses closer, lowering his voice, "I'll do anything. Even...I promise I'll...I'll try to quit smoking if you just let me explain right now."  
  
Liam's head snaps around as Harry stares at Zayn, completely flabbergasted.  
  
"Christ," Harry mutters.  
  
"Present," Louis pipes up, rubbing his thumb over Harry's hand with a small smile curving his lips.  
  
Harry chuckles and swings their hands between them.  
  
"You'd do that...for me?" Liam lets Zayn take his hand, his brown eyes bursting with affection for the dark haired lad gazing at him with equal tenderness. "You'd quit your dirty disgusting habit?"  
  
"When are you going to get it through your thick head Payne? I'd do fucking anything for you. Yeah I kissed Harry and yeah Louis might have known before you but we were drunk and it was disgusting. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but it just never came up and it didn't mean anything to me. Really. Not like you babes. I love you yeah?"  
  
Zayn takes a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket and then upends them in his beer, his thumb stroking over the pulse in Liam's neck. Liam surges forward and kisses him, messy and loud, tugging on Zayn's hair as Zayn's hands rove across his back.  
  
"That'd be our cue," Louis whispers, nudging Harry's shoulder.  
  
Harry nods and then ducks down to drop a kiss to Louis' hairline.  
  
"Get out of here please," Niall moans, shooing them with his hands, "and I don't want to see either of you until you've fucked."  
  
"Nialler!"  
  
"Sorry H but I'm going to have to rule harshly on this one. You're my mate and I love ya but if you're going to grope his bum in public, I'm going to have to steer clear until you've done the deed."  
  
"I'm not--"  
  
"Harry, I can see your hand."  
  
So Harry might have unlinked their hands just so he could gently and okay, perhaps a _little_ possessively, grip Louis' bum. So what?  
  
"Let's just go love."  
  
Louis eyes him meaningfully and Harry smiles at him, holding his gaze for just a touch too long, the tender expression on his face, just a little too obvious. He never did have a good poker face.  
  
.....  
  
"Harold you couldn't take any longer if you tried."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and jiggles the key in the lock again. It's a bastard of a thing really. It only ever plays up when he's on a time crunch. In this case, Louis is decidedly anxious to get inside and had in fact, sat in the cab jiggling his leg the whole ride home from the pub. Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out why Louis would be so on edge and impatient but he honestly didn't need to in order to know he wanted to make it better.  
  
"I'm trying, this key is honestly the worst."  
  
"Shove over hipster."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and continues to mess with the lock.  
  
"I can do it. This is actually my flat you know."  
  
"Either shove over or turn around right now," Louis demands and Harry can hear his foot tapping against the ground with impatience.  
  
"What? Louis--"  
  
"Make your decision or I'll make it for you love."  
  
Harry turns around and looks down at Louis with his soft hair melting down the sides of his face and his swoon worthy blue eyes, two parts agitation and one part affection. It’s like there’s a jar of blue marble attitude melting into liquid blue tenderness before Harry’s eyes and dripping down the sides as it overflows in spades. That jar bears his name in Louis’ curly writing. The words come out a little harsher than Harry had originally intended.  
  
"What is it I can do for y--"  
  
Louis swallows the rest of his sentence, knocking Harry back against the door with his hips. His hands go to Harry’s curls and his tongue fights its way through the slight shocked resistance of Harry’s mouth. Harry loses himself in the moment, rubbing his thumbs over Louis’ nipples through his shirt as Louis moans into his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, exerting the perfect amount of pressure to get Harry rutting against him. But wait--

 

“Lou,” Harry hums, drawing back slightly only to desperately pull Louis back in for another taste… another lingering kiss, “no Louis, _hey_ ,” Harry grasps his chin and concentrates on only kissing the outside of his mouth this time, “what’s wrong?”  


Louis blushes and then tilts his head back, an ironic, bitter edge to the laugh that spurts from his lips as he eyes the skylight above.

 

“Sweetheart, talk to me.”  


“Let’s go inside Harry,” Louis says, still not looking him in the eye.

 

Harry sighs and then turns, jiggling the key in the lock and finding that it clicks open first try. Louis follows him inside and then seats himself down on the couch, snuggling up in the corner like he’s afraid of Harry or at least thinking something equally awful. Harry sits down beside him and drops his keys on the table, the metallic clang ringing out in the silence of the flat. He shifts closer and then gently lays his hand on Louis’ thigh.

 

“Please Lou.”  


Louis sighs and looks up at him from beneath feathered eyelashes, his expression sombre.

 

“I got tired of waiting.”  


“Um--“

 

“You were just taking so long to open that damn door Harry,” Louis bursts out, looking truly frazzled and it would be funny if only Harry weren’t so worried, “and I lost it because I don’t want to waste any more time. I want to kiss you Harry, for _days_ if I can and I don’t need more than that, I swear but I just…I need you and I need you now. It’s terrifying because before this week I could have sworn there wasn’t anything I needed but him.”

 

A wobbly smile replaces the concerned frown on Harry’s face as he traces Louis’ hairline with his fingers and Louis hums in his throat. He turns around on the couch, curling up against Harry instead of the couch and then laying his head back against Harry’s thigh while he gazes up at him.

 

“You really wanted to kiss me that bad?” Harry questions, biting the corner of his mouth hard to quieten his smile, “Because you could have just said so Lou. I get it okay? I get that you don’t want to spend any time hesitating when you already feel like the last three years of your life were somewhat wasted but Louis, I’m not going anywhere and I want you to have the time to think about it. At least take the night. To decide.”  


“To decide what?” Louis asks with wide, fearful eyes.

 

Harry’s thumb trails over the slightly faded tattoo inked across Louis’ wrist…the one that he’s taken to ignoring. 

 

“To decide if this is what you want, to decide if you want to…to try this with me. _Us_ ,” Harry links their fingers together and leans down, guiding his lips across the smooth, soft skin of Louis’ forehead, “because you’re all I want. There are no doubts for me Lou. That…tonight, it was incredible, the most incredible thing that I’ve ever--“

 

“Harry.”

 

“I’m not done love. I just want you to understand,” Harry traces the bottom of Louis’ chin with his thumb, guiding Louis’ head up, “that after everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take a decision you made in the heat of the moment when you were upset and hold you to it, expecting commitment. If in the morning, you come into that kitchen and you kiss me, I’ll know that you’re as ready as I am to explore this.”

 

Harry watches Louis’ eyes carefully but they give nothing away.

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

Harry brushes over Louis’ mouth with his thumb and then leans over to part Louis’ lips with his own, kissing him gently as Louis’ tiny thumb traces the nape of his neck.

 

“And if not,” Harry rests his forehead against Louis’, “I’m still not going anywhere sweetheart.”

 

“Fuck,” Louis swears and then pulls him back in, sucking at Harry’s mouth with renewed vigour, “fuck, you’re fucking incredible.”

 

“You swear too much,” Harry whispers against his lips.

 

Louis pulls back with a furrowed brow and Harry’s grin pokes through in response.

 

“Don’t worry, I think it’s sexy.”

 

“Fuck,” Louis mutters again, “if you’re not going to fight fair Harold then…”

 

Harry gasps as Louis rises up from his position, pushing him back against the couch and then seating himself squarely in his lap. He swings his leg over Harry’s lap and then straddles him provocatively.

 

“Then you’re going to fight dirty?” Harry fills in, breathless as his hands fly to Louis’ hips.

 

“You betcha,” Louis smirks and then scoots forward, digging his knees into the back of the couch as he grinds down against Harry’s crutch.

 

“Jesus, almighty and Christ,” Harry exclaims with a shiver, groaning from deep within his throat as Louis’ arse rubs tightly against his none too soft dick.

 

Louis looks more than a little affected himself, flexing his hips high enough that his dick brushes up against Harry’s stomach every time he moves. Harry feels its hard length.

 

“You’re trying to kill me,” Harry accuses on a breathy exhale, squeezing Louis’ hips while Louis increases his pace, “You’re definitely trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

 

Louis throws his head back, eyelashes fluttering as he presses his legs further into the softness of the couch and rises completely off of Harry before rocking back down with intention, dragging his exquisite bum along the whole length of Harry’s hard cock. He then slips his hands inside Harry’s top, scrubbing desperately over his nipples and making Harry’s eyes squeeze shut as he arches up off the couch with a high pitched whine.

 

“Is it working?” Louis pants, pulling him forward into an urgent kiss.

 

Harry can barely contemplate the perfection of this moment, let alone a question. Here he is with the captivating, beautiful man with the crinkle cut eyes and patchwork heart that he’s completely fallen in love with, grinding against his dick as he spills a desperate moan against Harry’s mouth. Here he is with the loveliest man he’s ever kissed undoing his own trousers and wrapping a hand around his dick with a stuttered, drawn out moan of relief.

 

“Fuck yes,” Harry grunts, “everything you do…” Harry mouths around his chin and Louis tilts his head back to allow better access, the hand around his dick speeding up, “you’re so hot.”

 

“Sweet talker,” Louis says, low and breathy, swallowing Harry’s protest with the thrust of his eager tongue.

 

Harry slides his hands up under Louis’ t-shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin but it’s still not enough.

 

“Take your shirt off,” he pleads, squeezing Louis hip as he sucks on a patch of his neck, “please take your shirt off right now. I want to see you.”

 

Louis groans, low and guttural and then rips the shirt off, tossing it backward without so much as a glance behind him. His lust infused, crystal blue eyes settle on Harry and then he starts unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, gyrating his hips in a pleasurably tight circle while still sticking to a torturously slow pace that makes Harry shudder and his eyes roll.

 

“Wanna see you too,” Louis murmurs as he parts the two folds of material and smooths his hands over the planes of Harry’s chest and stomach, Harry’s abdominals heaving with how much he wants Louis, “so beautiful. So lovely.”

 

“You are--oh _fuc_ k,” Harry cries out as Louis latches on to his nipple with his mouth, biting down just enough to make Harry’s cock throb in his pants.

 

“Mmm,” Louis hums, rubbing his thumb against the wetness he leaves behind, “so good in my mouth.”

 

Harry thinks he could come just from the words falling from Louis’ seductive lips. Instead, he pulls Louis down into a kiss, drawing Louis’ tongue into a sensual game of push and pull that makes Louis go wild, his breath hitching as the air fills with the slick sound of his hand sliding faster over his own dick. His pretty dick. Harry pulls back from the kiss, much to Louis displeasure and then pulls Louis up so he’s straddling his waist instead.

 

“Stay,” Harry instructs with a pant, quickly unbuttoning his jeans as blood flows to his cock and he pulls it out with shaking fingers and an unsteady, pounding heart, “stay just like that. Want to watch you. You’re stunning.”

 

The hitches in Louis’ breaths get increasingly more frantic with less space between each one and then his hips begin to jerk as he comes into his fist. Harry is right there with him, watching with wide eyes and moaning loudly as he shoots immediately against his own hand, shuddering into the couch.

 

“Twice,” Louis groans, collapsing against Harry’s chest and burying his little head in Harry’s shoulder, “we’re disgusting Styles.”

 

Harry rubs over the small of his back, warm and silky beneath his hand, the muscles jumping as Louis’ body comes down from his high.

 

“If you think two times in a night is a bad thing, I don’t know if I can do this with you.”

 

Louis giggles, adorable little creature that he is and kisses his way up Harry’s shoulder, to his neck and then eventually finds his way to Harry’s lips. They kiss deeply for a few minutes before Harry really does start to feel gross having his soft, wet dick hanging out against his jeans. Thankfully, Louis decides the same thing and they chuckle to themselves as they each do up their trousers.

 

“Bed time?” Louis asks with hope blooming in his beautiful blue eyes.

 

Harry feels like a complete arsehole but it has to be this way.

 

“Remember,” he says softly, guiding his hands up and down the warmth of Louis’ bare sides, “I want you to have the night. I don’t want to lie down with you and hold you like that until…until this is for certain. I want it to be completely real between us, no regrets.”

 

“Okay,” Louis nods with a sober expression, the hope in his eyes fading away into something else, something much sadder that tears at Harry’s heart, “I understand.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Harry shakes his head, kneading the frown lines by Louis’ eyes, “you think you’re not what I want…that I don’t really want all of you.”

 

Louis turns away from him, sliding off his lap just to lay down in his previous spot on the couch, his head nudging the armrest.

 

“Louis--“

 

“I’m so sorry Harry that I--“  


“No, _no_ ,” Harry says with ferocity, squeezing Louis’ thigh to reassure him, “don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry Lou. Stop thinking that you’re not a good enough person for somebody to want for anything substantial. Louis, if I could be certain of what you want and what’s best for you, I’d carry you to my bed right here, right now and probably never let you leave. I…I like you Louis. So much. But I have to do what’s best for the both of us right now. I need you to stay here tonight.”  


“Stay with me,” Louis whimpers, turning his head a fraction to stare at Harry, his fringe covering his eyes, “please,” Louis pauses, swallowing loudly, “baby.”

 

It’s the first time Louis’ called him that. Ever. It sounds so soft and husky in his mouth, tailing off at the end like he’s not sure he should have said it. It’s painfully adorable and it warms Harry’s heart. He can’t resist. He wedges himself in behind Louis and then grabs the throw off the back off the couch, covering them both before curling an arm around Louis’ waist and squeezing tight.

 

“Promise me you’ll think about it,” Harry whispers in his ear, “and don’t spare my feelings okay? Just…think. I’ll understand if it’s all a bit too soon sweetheart.”  


“Nigh Haz,” Louis yawns, shoving a foot in between Harry’s.

 

“Night beautiful,” Harry sighs, kissing the side of Louis’ face and then the arch of his shoulder, “sweet dreams.”

 

……..

 

When Harry wakes up, he’s lying on his back with Louis draped over him, bare chest to bare chest, his cheek covering Harry’s nipple and one of his hands loosely tangled in the ends of Harry’s curls. It’s blissful feeling Louis’ soft, cool breath on his skin and the warmth of his body against his own. Harry draws his hand up to the back of Louis’ head and just cradles it, running his fingers through the soft hair at the base of his neck and then squeezing gently. He guides his hand down across the perfect curve of Louis’ spine, gently trailing his fingers over each individual knob, marvelling at how tiny everything is. When Harry reaches his lower back, Louis sighs in his sleep and scrunches Harry’s curls in his hand, brushing his lips against the side of Harry’s pec. Harry’s never felt so dizzy with emotion. He’s never felt so much tenderness for someone before. He just wishes they could stay like this, enveloped in each other’s warmth and pressed together from chest to toe.

 

The problem is that they can’t. The problem is that Harry gave Louis the night to breathe…to think and there’s every chance that Louis will wake up this morning and decide that no, Harry is not what he wants. There’s every chance he’ll decide that what he needs right now is to be on his own while he mourns the loss of his relationship and while that would be perfectly legitimate, Harry will absolutely struggle not to be able to kiss him or touch him the way he did last night, the way he’s touching him right now. He would never push for anything that would threaten Louis’ happiness and that’s why he can only hope that he can inspire it rather than becoming its obstacle.

 

Harry grips Louis’ hips as he slides out from beneath him and gets to his feet. He stumbles into the kitchen and gets to work on preparing another (hopefully) mouth-watering breakfast. The past week Louis had seemed so surprised that Harry would go to such effort to please him but for Harry, it wasn’t effort. Not when he was greeted with the openly surprised and remarkably touched look on Louis’ face every morning. _You know what they say_ , he thinks to himself, as he cracks the first egg into a mixing bowl, _the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach_.

 

Thinking about what he asked of Louis, Harry feels his nerves skyrocket. If Louis walks in here and doesn’t kiss him, that’s the end of it. Harry is not prepared for that, as much as he’d like to pretend he is. The only thing he can do now is vow to himself that he’ll remain composed and not let Louis see how much it kills him not to get that chance. Louis can’t have that resting on his shoulders and Harry will do whatever it takes to see that it isn’t.

 

The sounds of crispy bacon sizzling away in the pan eventually wake Louis from his slumber but Harry doesn’t hear his footsteps and so is left struggling for breath when a soft hand clamps down over his bare shoulder.

 

“Morning sunshine.”

 

Harry quickly turns around and fails quite spectacularly at not ogling Louis, still half naked and smiling gently into his eyes.

 

“Lou. Hi. I um…I was just making breakfast. For you. I know you have that early client but I thought we could eat together and then--“

 

“Sounds great,” Louis grins at him and then inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed like pretty little butterfly wings, “smells great too. I’m just going to go take a shower while you finish up. That okay?”

 

“Um, yeah,” Harry smiles, or he tries to but it feels like his face is crumpling with the effort, “I’ll just set the table.”

 

“Be out in a sec.”

 

Louis winks at him, his smile blinding and then disappears into the hallway. Harry is left reeling. He might have expected Louis to change his mind but he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Louis to pretend as if nothing ever happened between them, all buoyant and light hearted, as if nothing had changed and they hadn’t gotten off twice with each other last night. Harry can’t fathom that Louis wouldn’t mention it at least. It just doesn’t seem like--unless he forgot but even that boggles Harry’s mind. How could that pivotal moment between them have slipped his mind? It hurts. Harry’s gut feels like it’s sinking through the floor. Was last night not as incredible for Louis as it was for him? Was it such a mistake that Louis wants to pretend it never happened in the first place?

 

Breakfast is cordial enough with sweet smiles directed Harry’s way over the table as they eat in relative silence. However it’s so very platonic and Harry has to continuously guzzle orange juice just to avoid the unnerving lack of intensity in Louis’ expression. Where is the desperation and need from last night? Where is the man that had straddled him without thought and brought himself to orgasm while Harry watched on? Eventually Harry gets up, avoiding eye contact, as he speaks in a low, throaty tone, trying to bite down on the tears threatening to overwhelm him. Louis doesn’t want him and if Harry doesn’t get him out of this flat soon, he’s going to break down in the most pathetic, shameful way possible.

 

“Just going to clear the table and do the dishes.”

 

“Okay,” Louis agrees, cheerful as anything, “I’ll just go brush my teeth and then I’ll be off.”

 

“Great,” Harry croaks, “good for you.”

 

 _Shit_. He promised himself he wouldn’t be bitter and that he wouldn’t make Louis feel guilty for not reciprocating his feelings. He raises his eyes to meet Louis’ as Louis rounds the table, his eyes melting with concern.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, raising his thumb to brush at the damp spots around the corners of Harry’s eyes.

 

Harry knocks his hand away, his own hands trembling.

 

“Fine,” he says stiffly, “go brush your teeth Lou.”

 

The ‘Lou’ comes out rough edged and undeniably warped but Louis just nods, biting the corner of his lip as he walks away. That’s it then. There’s no chance for them and maybe there never was to begin with. Harry is in love with him, so deeply, irrevocably, and irreversibly in love with him and Louis is lost to him before they’d even begun. It’s understandable. He knows he should consider himself lucky to have had even one night with Louis considering it’s been just a week since everything went down. Louis’ been through hell and is probably still completely gone for the man who put him through it. Harry feels lucky, of course he does but it’s not enough to ease his longing. Louis is not the kind of guy you can spend one night with and be satisfied. Louis’ the kind of guy who gets under your skin with the deep, heady smell of the aftershave on his neck and the press of his lips, so wet and soft. He’s the kind of guy you kiss until someone physically rips you away.

 

Harry grabs his shirt from where he’d discarded it last night in his sleep and quickly pulls it on, buttoning it closed with trembling, limp fingers. Then he gathers the dishes up and takes them to the sink, depositing them all at once with a loud crash that he can’t even pretend isn’t a result of the emotion overwhelming his system. He told himself not to get this embroiled in such a complicated situation and what did he do? He went and fell arse over tits in love with his very attractive, very compelling but undeniably complicated neighbour. Now his eyes are blurring with tears he can’t shed as he scrubs viciously at Louis’ plate and tries not to lose all hope of ever finding the right person.

 

“Harry.”  


Harry can’t turn around, not when the whites of his eyes are bound to be painfully and obviously reddened by unshed tears and the green of his irises, glassy with emotion. He can’t, not when looking at Louis hurts too god damn much for words.

 

“ _Harry_ , would you turn around…please?”

 

It’s the uncertain, slightly vulnerable edge to Louis’ voice that does it. Harry is a complete sucker and when he turns, in one fell swoop he manages to stumble a little, gripping the bench for balance as he slops soapy water down across the cupboards. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Louis looking like perfection, clothed in a quietly adorable mint Henley and snug blue jeans, does nothing to ease Harry’s hurt. He wants to runs his hands through the softness of Louis’ fringe and ruck up the front of his shirt, smoothing his hands across Louis’ curved stomach and the arches of his perfect hips. Now he knows he can’t. His touch will never be innocent again.

 

Louis must have no consideration for the inner turmoil Harry’s currently experiencing. Either that or he’s somehow completely oblivious because instead of keeping his distance, he takes three short steps towards Harry until their toes line up. When he tilts his head back, their eyes connect and Louis brushes at the wetness around Harry’s bottom lashes once more. A soft whisper trickles from his lips as he squeezes Harry’s hips, clothed in plaid and pushes up onto his toes.

 

“Thank you for breakfast baby.”

 

A startled gasp tumbles from Harry’s lips just as Louis’ mouth parts his. The firm pressure of Louis’ mouth and the somewhat cool sensation is somehow ten million times sweeter than what Harry remembers from last night. Perhaps it’s because Louis tastes like mint toothpaste and smells like Harry’s shampoo mixed in with a spritz of his own sweet scented cologne. Perhaps it’s because there’s nothing urgent about this kiss as Harry leans back against the sink and Louis follows, sinking his fingers into Harry’s curls. Louis uses his foe height advantage to press more deeply into Harry’s mouth, seeking Harry’s tongue with expertise and then strokes across Harry’s cheek with his thumb when he finds it. Harry feels a tear escape because he had honestly thought just moments ago, that he had kissed Louis for the last time. He’s got no clue as to what just happened and no clue about what is happening right now in fact but he finds he’s not inclined to stop it, gripping the sides of Louis’ Henley to tug him closer and sighing Louis’ name in between unhurried brushes of their lips. Louis is first to pull away, coming back in to suck patiently on Harry’s upper lip before pulling back with a dreamy sigh.

 

“And that is how I kiss you good morning,” he says with a smirk in his voice.

 

“Louis,” Harry sounds strangled even to his own ears as he moves with Louis, backing him all the way up to the fridge on the other side of the room and barring him in, “what on earth—what are you trying to do to me? You didn’t even…” Harry swallows and then guides his hand over Louis’ hair, bringing it around to the base of his neck while Louis watches on, far too calm and collected. “You didn’t mention it. How could you wait so long? You knew I was upset. “

 

“First,” Louis holds up a finger, despite his range of movement remaining quite limited with Harry towering over him, “I’m not trying to do _anything_ to you. I just thought it would be romantic and you know, dramatic to have like…like a big move like that. By the look on your face when I called you baby, you _appreciated_ that. Second,” up goes another finger, the mischievous spark in Louis’ eye belying the stern tone of his voice, “I didn’t mention it because, again, more dramatic.” Harry rolls his eyes. In response, Louis grips his shoulders and kisses him, quick and firm. “Third, I waited because…” Louis bites down on his lip and then squeezes Harry’s bicep as he delivers the much awaited excuse, “I needed to brush my teeth Harold. Nobody likes morning breath.”  


Harry’s eyes widen and Louis squeezes his bicep again, his pitch inching higher with panic.

 

“Not that you don’t taste good babe! You do, I swear. Best morning kiss I’ve ever had but I didn’t--“

 

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Harry says slowly, enunciating each syllable as he gathers Louis’ face between his palms and settles him with the most wildly pissed off expression he can manage when he’s confronted with lips moist from his own kiss and wide, apologetic blue eyes. “If you think I’m angry because you unintentionally implied I have morning breath, we have a lot of work to do.”

 

“But I--“

 

“I’m angry because your excuse is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Louis’ head falls back against the fridge with shock, “I’m angry because while I was thinking I had just got my stupid heart broken by the very person I most wanted to give it to, you were pondering the state of your oral hygiene.”

 

Louis opens his mouth again but Harry pinches it closed with his fingers.

 

“If you make a joke about oral right now, I will never forgive you.”  


Louis puffs out disgruntled air through his nose and then flutters his eyelashes at Harry impatiently. Harry releases his lips but crosses his arms, staring down at Louis while simultaneously failing horribly at looking unimpressed. He is impressed. He’s impressed by the grouchy set of Louis’ small mouth and the flash of defiance in his electric blue eyes. He’s impressed by the bulge of his biceps while he mimics Harry’s position and crosses his arms, so tiny but so attractively fierce. He’s impressed by the sassy way Louis flicks his fringe away from his eyes, keeping his gaze settled on Harry. He’s so effortlessly sexy, it hurts.

 

“Okay Harold, let’s get one thing straight,” he says through his teeth, “I’m not about to take responsibility for the fact that you came to a _stupid_ conclusion. You assumed you knew what I was thinking and you were wrong. I did my best to _show_ you without telling you how I felt and you should have seen it. You should have known. Sure, I knew you were upset and in that moment, I wanted to tell you but I thought, ‘you know what Tomlinson, you had a plan so stick with it. Harry’s worth the damn romantic gesture’ and you _are_ , you blind, foolish hipster. Never mind the fact that _someone_ once let me think that they were fucking their taken friend Olly…”

 

Louis eyes him meaningfully and Harry opens his mouth to jump to his own defence but Louis closes _his_ lips this time with a punishing look.

 

“I’m not finished you big oaf. I was jealous as fuck then and you know why? Because I liked you and I didn’t want anybody to have a bigger piece of you than me. I woke up this morning after having kissed you senseless last night and I had _no_ doubts in my mind. I wanted you Harry Styles and I wanted to try this new thing we have going on. I wanted to initiate kiss fest 2.0 and yeah I wanted to be minty fresh first. So I’m sorry if you think that I don’t give a shit but you know what? You smell like fucking berries and you haven’t even showered so I’m going to kiss you right now if you don’t mind. Okay?”

 

Harry just stares at him, wide eyed and completely struck dumb, his arms loosening from their stiff position as Louis’ do the same.

 

“Berries?” He finally manages.

 

Louis rolls his eyes and then pulls him in by the hips. He brings their mouths together with a cute huff that makes Harry smile into the kiss, their teeth clacking together slightly. This only makes Louis smile too. Five minutes later, Louis pushes him back with a dazed smile and shining eyes.

 

“I really have to go.”  


“Leave your lips?” Harry proposes with an unashamed grin, “I’ll take care of them for you.”  


Louis presses his lips together, trying to dampen his blinding smile and quieten the light exploding out of his eyes.

 

“I’m sure you would.”

 

“I want to ask you something first,” Harry says quietly, “before you leave me without your delicious mouth.”

 

He winks at Louis and Louis presses back into his space, working his lips open once more and then tugging on a loose curl.

 

“Go on then Mr. Lip Fetish…what is it you’d like to ask me?”

 

“Wait here,” Harry says and Louis raises an eyebrow, “one second, I promise.”

 

Harry darts out the door of the flat and then journeys three doors down. He knocks on the door at the same time that he realises his jeans are yet to be buttoned. When Mrs Dawson opens the door, he’s just buttoning them up.

 

“Oh hello Harry,” the miniature old woman says with a huge smile, reaching out to pull him into a hug, “I’m so glad you stopped by. I’ve missed your lovely face dear.”

 

“I’m so sorry Mrs Dawson,” Harry says with a genuine frown, “I haven’t been over for tea in weeks. It’s just…things have been a bit more chaotic than usual.”  
  
“With work?”

 

“Oh um…no,” Harry shuffles his feet, blushing insanely red and consequently reminding himself of a teenage girl being asked which boy she likes. _I can’t say_ , he can imagine himself squealing, _but he’s really, really cute and I want to like, kiss him all the time_. “Actually it’s my personal life.”

 

“Oh,” Mrs Dawson reaches out and squeezes his forearm. A gentle smile paints her weary blue eyes a softer shade of happy, “who’s the lucky young man?”

 

“Well actually, that’s why I um…he’s in my flat right now and I kind of need…he’s special, you know and--“

 

“Say no more, say no more,” Mrs Dawson waves her hands at him and then disappears back into her flat.

 

When she returns, she’s bearing the exact item he was hoping for.

 

“Thank you,” he gushes, planting a gentle kiss on her wrinkly cheek, “thank you so much.”

 

“You’re welcome Harry,” she nods, “and I want to meet this man of yours at some point, okay? The special ones are the ones that stick.”

 

Harry’s smile might be lighting up the whole hall as he backs away.

 

“I hope so Mrs Dawson, I really do.”

 

When he gets back to his own flat, Louis is leaning against the bench in the kitchen, gazing at the door with obvious agitation. Harry tucks his gift behind his back and then smiles his best sheepish, “ _I’m sorry I just left you in the kitchen waiting for me_ ” smile.

 

“Sorry Lou. Got caught up talking.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes as Harry draws closer but it’s fond as anything and they both know it.

 

“Of course you did Prince Charming.”

 

“Does that make you Cinderella?” Harry asks as he drops to one knee, fluttering his eyelashes expertly.

 

Louis’ half grin and simultaneous eye roll might be one of Harry’s favourite looks on him.

 

“Very funny,” he says, “now get up off the dirty floor and ask me your question.”  


Harry pulls the single red rose from behind his back and offers it up to Louis with a slightly nervous, hopeful grin. He’s quite certain Duncan wasn’t one for cinematic clichés but with Louis’ stunt this morning, Harry’s quite certain that he is. However, Harry’s not sure how sappy he can be before Louis declares he’s too pathetic to even consider dating so his heart stutters slightly as Louis’ eyes fall to the rose.

“Louis William Tomlinson, will you accept this rose?”

 

Louis’ response melts Harry’s heart which, by the way, is already riddled through and through with Louis-patented fondness. Louis’ hands go to his mouth and then he pulls his fringe to the side like he’s not sure what to do with himself. He looks positively charmed and then unmistakably touched. Harry can see the glow growing in his bright blue eyes as he gulps and then takes the rose between his fingers, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. His breath stutters on the exhale and then he looks down at Harry again, so awed and yet so confused.

 

“For me?” He asks, his throat bobbing. Harry watches him bite down on his lip in an effort to control his response but his attempted smirk is wobbly at best, “this isn’t gay bachelor Styles.”

 

“No,” Harry rises to his feet and takes the rose from Louis’ shaking fingers, planting it on the counter behind them, “you’re right because if it were, I’d send everybody home but you. I’d only want you.”

 

“Fuck Styles,” Louis curses, wiping at the bottom of his eye with the side of his hand, “if I’d known you were going to ask me--“

 

“Oh that’s not my question,” Harry grins and then squeezes Louis’ waist as he kisses him square on the mouth, “that was just the prelude sweetheart.”

 

“Fuck,” Louis repeats against his mouth, “what are you doing to me?”

 

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says with a steady voice, joining their hands and tucking the tops of Louis’ fingers beneath his as he brings their hands up to knock against Louis’ chest, “will you please do me the incredible honour of letting me take you out on our first date? When you get home of course. I mean, if you’re too tired--“

 

Louis uses his hold on Harry’s hands as leverage to yank him into a kiss, breathing hotly into Harry’s mouth as their tongues dance together. When he pulls back, his smile is quiet but his eyes are alight with a world of awed happiness that makes Harry’s chest feel tight and his core tremble with hope. _I love you_ , _I love you so much_.

 

“Yes,” Louis sighs, “please. I’ll be home around 12. I really should get going actually…”

 

Harry nods, lighting up with joy as he knocks his nose against Louis’, letting Louis catch his mouth first and then proceeding to trace the intimate line of Louis’ tongue. He massages the back of Louis’ neck as his tongue moves deeper and Louis squeezes his hip in time with each stroke.

 

“Bye,” Louis whispers huskily, brushing Harry’s pulse point with his lips, “I can’t wait to come home,” he guides his mouth over Harry’s chin, “I can’t wait to do this with you.”

 

Harry has to forcibly detach his mouth from Louis’ to get him to leave and even then, the door opens thirty seconds later and Louis comes hurrying back in with a shrug.

 

“Forgot my rose,” he says with a subtly elated smile that tugs at Harry’s heart strings. Louis reaches behind him to pick it up and then turns to him, grinning as he cups Harry’s chin with his other hand, “oh and this.”

 

He licks into Harry’s mouth desperately for all of sixty seconds before Harry breaks away with a scandalised gasp.

 

“You forgot the rose on purpose. This was all a ploy to kiss me again!”

 

Louis stares innocently back at him, all wide eyed and unassuming. Harry is not fooled.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis cracks a smile and then presses their mouths together, “you know, Harold, seeing things that aren’t there is the first sign of madness.”

 

“I don’t know whether I want to take you out on a date or take you back to the pound.”

 

Louis pouts at him, standing on his toes and guiding his mouth repeatedly over Harry’s until Harry relents with an irritated but more likely, adoring sigh.

 

“I’ll see you at 12. Don’t be late.”

 

“For my very important date?” Louis grins and then squeezes his hip as he backs himself out of the kitchen, “See you at twelve babe.”

 

It’s all so very familiar. It’s almost as if they’ve been doing this for years and that this isn’t the first time they’ve ever gone out. It’s like it’s simply their date night…or day and they’re so comfortably intimate with each other that there’s no sense that this might be something out of the ordinary. That is in spite of how breathless Harry feels at the thought of it. He’s got only a few hours to set it all up.

 

“Exactly,” Harry points a finger at him as he reaches the door, “tardiness will only result in fewer kisses.”  


_Liar, liar, pants on fire_. Louis seems to know it too. He cracks a grin and then blows a kiss just as he disappears through the door, calling his retort out loud enough for the rest of the hall to hear.

 

“Oh Harry…babe, don’t be absurd. How do you think I make up for my tardiness?”

 

……

 

When Louis walks out the door, he looks back over his shoulder to check Harry didn't follow him out and then dials his client's number.  
  
"Paul! Mate, how are you?"  
  
"I'm good Louis, what's up?"  
  
Louis frowns, feeling more than a little guilty about the atrocious thing he's about to do.  
  
"I'm kind of...there's an emergency mate and I'm kinda needed at home. I won't be able to do today. Okay if we reschedule?"  
  
"Yes of course!" Paul says emphatically, "hope everything is okay mate?"  
  
"It will be," Louis says into the receiver and then ends the call.  
  
As he gets into his car, he dials the first number on his speed dial.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, it's me. It's an emergency. Meet me at Westfield and bring your boyfriend. Nialler too."  
  
"I'll be there in ten minutes."  
  
"Good, see you then."  
  
Louis disconnects the call and then takes a deep breath, settling his hands over the wheel as his stomach fills with nervous, butterfly-like knots. He's going on his first date in three years. A date with Harry. Harry, who is stupidly gorgeous and far, far too good for him. _Fuck_.  
  
.....  
  
  
"Would you stop pacing? You're giving me a headache. It's going to be fine, I'm kind of an expert okay? Don't know why we even need the others."  
  
"Because Zayn," Louis turns to him, halting in the act of pacing the shopping centre, "Niall knows what Harry likes and Liam knows what I like and together they will keep you in check and stop you from picking anything too pretentious."  
  
"I wouldn't--"  
  
Niall claps Zayn over the shoulder.  
  
"Mate, you would."  
  
"Can't believe he's taking you out Tommo," Liam buts in with a grin, "and he gave you a rose, how bloody sweet. Harry has my full approval."  
  
Louis gives him a disparaging look, placing his hands on his hips to enhance the sass queen effect.  
  
"Well thanks _Dad_ but are we really discussing whether he’s good enough? Of course he is… he’s Harry Styles. Besides, we're not a bunch of teenage girls you prat…let's get down to business."  
  
The four of them stand up but Niall rolls his eyes and scoffs as he pushes at Louis' side.  
  
"Yeah because taking you on a shopping expedition to pick out your first date outfit isn't at all like something a bunch of teenage girls would do."  
  
Louis pushes him right back.  
  
  
......  
  
"Well," Louis stands before the floor length mirror with his arms spread out beside him and his nervous blue eyes zoning in on Zayn's unreadable expression behind him, "what do you think?"  
  
"I think my work is done," Zayn says with a smug smile, reaching forward to smooth out a crease on Louis' shirt.  
  
"Niall?"  
  
"He's going to lose it when he sees you. Ten bucks says his tongue either flops out of his mouth or he swallows it whole."  
  
Louis grins pointedly at him before turning to Liam.  
  
"Payno?"  
  
"I think we could go one size smaller with the pants," he says with a thoughtful tone and then blanches at the looks he receives, "hey, don't look at me like that. I may be his surrogate dad but… the man ain't ever seen a booty like this,” Liam directs a wink at Zayn, “Yes, that's Beyoncé babe. I lied when I said I don't listen to her while I work out."  
  
Zayn squeezes Liam's biceps with his fingers as he ravages his mouth. Niall rolls his eyes with an equal parts, fond and exasperated grin and then smirks at Louis.  
  
"I'll get you one size down but…Louis mate?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You let me know if H can't keep his hands to himself," Niall cracks his knuckles and then rolls his head around his shoulders for show, "I'll sort him out real fast."  
  
Louis cackles delightedly into his fist as Niall disappears into the racks.  
  
"Next stop, the florist," Louis mutters to himself, playing with the sleeve of his shirt, "I won't be outdone Styles."  
  
.....  
  
"Harry?” Louis calls out, receiving only an empty echo back, “Haz, I'm home."  
  
Louis walks through the flat and then stops dead in his tracks when he finds Harry bent over the kitchen bench reading the paper. His jeans are almost as tight as Louis' and when he turns around he's clothed in a pale blue scoop neck shirt that finishes just below his forearms, pressing snugly against his muscled biceps and exposing the tops of his swallows for Louis' ogling. His lips are shiny with berry gloss and his curls are soft and bouncy looking.  
  
"Hi," Louis says, throat thick, "um…these are,” he coughs trying to remove the lump from his throat, “…these are for you."  
  
Louis pulls the bouquet of pink tulips from behind his back and hands them to Harry but Harry is too busy gaping at him to grasp them so Louis just reaches around him and plonks them down on the table.  
  
"Are you ready to--"  
  
Harry lurches somewhat drunkenly forward and takes hold of Louis' face, his hands sweeping up past Louis’ jaw to melt into the softness of his hair.  
  
“—go?”

 

"You look like a lawyer," Harry says in a low, throaty tone, rubbing Louis' collar between his fingers and then smoothing his hand down over Louis’ skinny black tie, "but like...a sexy lawyer who rides a great big, dirty motorbike," Harry tugs on the sides of his leather jacket for emphasis, "and whose legs are bloody _made_ of denim."  
  
Harry's hands brush the tops of his thighs and Louis smiles up at him, unmistakably pleased.  
  
"You like it? The jeans are a bit tight but--"  
  
"But nothing. You got me tulips and you look amazing. Now give me your hand."  
  
Louis places his smaller hand in Harry's and Harry smiles crookedly at him.  
  
"Now spin."  
  
Louis rolls his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he obeys, spinning slowly before Harry's eyes. He can admit that he does get a small buzz in his veins when he senses Harry’s gaze penetrating his upper body and searing through the back of his jeans.  
  
"Done ogling my bum Harold?"  
  
Harry leans down and grazes Louis' mouth with his own, his eyelashes fluttering gently against Louis’ cheeks.

  
"Not even close," he sighs "but if I don't stop, we'll never get to where we're going."  
  
Louis lets out a soft laugh and tangles his hand in Harry's curls pushing them back as Harry rubs up against his wrist like the kitten he truly is.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"That's for me to know and you to find out when we get there," Harry says, bopping Louis on the nose.

 

Louis growls but follows Harry to the door anyway like the sucker he’s quickly becoming.

 

……

 

“I told you not to peek.”

 

“I’m not peeking!”

 

“Louis, you might have tiny hands but I felt you nudge my fingers apart babe.”

 

“Well are we there yet? I don’t get why--”

 

“Yes. Open your eyes darling.”

 

When Louis opens his eyes, he lets out a wildly attractive, manly yell. Okay, so it sounds a lot like a squeal but whatever.

 

“Hello,” he squeaks as twenty or so small faces smile up at him, “who are you guys?”

 

Harry beams at him and then gestures to the stretch of green surrounding them.

 

“We’re at Kew Gardens and these guys…” he says, turning towards the children who all wear endearingly bright expressions of excitement, “they’re some of the country’s finest young singers. They call themselves street song.”

 

There’s a little curly haired brunette who looks to be about 6 who steps out from behind the much taller boy in front of her. She’s dressed in a faded black and white striped jumper that’s torn around the sleeves and jeans that barely extend past her ankles. Louis looks around at the other kids and notices similar details; a faded and torn article of clothing here, a dirty scrape upon a knee there and scarcely any faces that look as full or as chubby as they should before facing puberty. These kids look rough and the name of their band “street song” leads Louis to believe that they must be street kids. Homeless. What affirms his conclusion is the fact that this is Harry Styles, the most charitable hipster Louis’ ever had the pleasure of kissing. _Mm, kissing_. They should do more of that. Although perhaps in a more appropriate setting, like when they’re not surrounded by tiny, innocent (or perhaps not so innocent, given their kind of life) faces.

 

“Hello,” the little girl greets him with an open hand, her sparkly blue eyes reminding Louis of a similar kind of excitability one would find in his own childhood pictures, “I’m Isobel, the lead singer.”

 

“Hi Isobel,” Louis says as he gently takes her hand and squeezes, instead of shaking, “I’m Louis…Harry’s friend.”  


Isobel nods and then shocks a startled laugh from Louis as she bows before him.

 

“Prince Louis, it is an honour.”  


“Prince Louis,” the motley group behind her echoes, imitating her bow in complete synchronicity.

 

Louis looks back at Harry with dry amusement and a raised eyebrow. Harry just runs a hand over the back of his hair and Louis face melts into an expression that is ultimately reserved for one very kissable hipster and one kissable hipster only

 

“I told them I was bringing a friend to meet them,” Harry explains, humour fogging up the stunning green of his eyes which shine just as brilliantly as the boat shaped leaves above him. “A prince from the land of Genovia who might be very impressed to hear some of their musical stylings.”

 

Harry turns a little away from the kids to wink at him and Louis buries his giggle in between his fingers. It makes Harry tug him close and kiss him softly just above the eye.

 

“I’m going to kiss you properly later,” he sighs in Louis’ ear, “I’m going to kiss you until you ask me to stop.”

 

Louis flicks his eyelashes up and gives Harry a lingering look that he hopes reads “ _I won’t ask_.”

 

“Anyway,” Harry says as he steps back, dimples marking his cheeks, “they’ve been working on this one for the past week and they’d love for you to hear it L-Prince Lou.”

 

“I would love to hear it,” Louis says with sincerity, bending down to Isobel’s level and lowering his voice to a whisper, “can I tell you a secret love?”

 

He pokes her stomach and she giggles, twisting her body away but nodding happily all the same. He smiles kindly at her and then tucks a springy curl behind her ear. Her eyes grow wide and bug-like with awe as she looks at Louis like he might actually be Santa Claus, the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny, all rolled into one.

 

“You remind me of myself when I was your age,” he says in a confidential tone, “which means you have a princess somewhere inside you,” he pokes her side again and then feels his heart stream contentment at the precious sound of her giggle, “but of course…you’re even luckier.”

 

“Why?” Isobel asks with open mouthed wonder.

 

Louis lowers his volume even further and then glances up at Harry who’s gazing at him with a curious but adoring expression.

 

“You’ve got lovely little curls just like my friend Harry. You’ll grow up to be a beautiful person, inside and out, just like he has.”

 

Isobel stares at Harry and then looks down at her hair in amazement, twirling it around her finger slowly like she’d completely forgotten it was hers. Louis starts to stand but she tugs on the side of his trouser leg. He squeezes her shoulder and rests back on his knee.

 

“What is it sweetheart?”

 

“Prince Lou,” she looks up at him from beneath her long lashes, her mouth quivering slightly. “If I’m a princess, does that mean I can live in a castle someday like you?”

 

Louis’ smile melts away, his chest cramping. _Fuck_. He forgot that this stunning little thing was homeless and that she doesn’t have a soft bed to lie in or a little room bursting with colour to call her own. He’d love to take her home and give her everything she so desperately deserves but looking around at the other faces behind her, he knows that he can’t…that it wouldn’t be fair unless he could do the same for them all. He swallows the huge lump in his throat and then summons the words to make her feel better. He cannot lie to her about this, he can only give her hope that she can be happy in spite of the difficulties she might face.

 

“I don’t know to be honest,” he says, rough voiced, “But you know what I do know Isobel, I know you’ll always have your music, your friends and Harry and I if you ever need us. I’ll take a flight from Genovia whenever you want to see me. Maybe you’ll even meet my sister, Princess Taylor,” he says, watching her eyes light up with excitement, “she’s a singer just like you.”

 

“Okay…” Isobel suddenly blushes and then holds her arms out, “can I please have a hug Prince Lou? Sara said I wasn’t s’posed to ask a member of the royal family but--“

 

“Of course you can have a hug sweetheart,” Louis opens his arms and waits for her to walk forward into his embrace, pressing his cheek against the springy curls and running his hand down the backs of them to relax her, “you can always have a hug from me.”

 

When Isobel steps back in line with the group, Harry helps Louis up, leaving an arm around his waist and pulling him back against his body as he whispers in his ear.

 

“I think she’s in love with you,” he muses, pressing a subtle kiss to the back of Louis’ neck, “shame.”

 

Louis grins and turns his head to face Harry.

 

“Jealous of a six year old babe?”

 

Harry’s thumb smooths over the amused crinkles by Louis’ eye.

 

“No,” Harry’s eyes sparkle cheekily, “I meant…shame for her.”

 

Louis trills a laugh as Harry motions for him to turn around.

 

“We’re Street Song,” Isobel announces, “and this is first time ever I saw your face.”

 

“How did you--how did you know I love this song?” Louis demands of Harry, his heart rabbiting in his chest, “my mum--“

 

“Used to sing it to you when you were a baby. She told me when I spoke to her earlier this week. I didn’t know it would be our first date,” Harry says with a sheepish grin and pink cheeks, “but I knew I wanted to do this for you.”

 

Louis doesn’t say a word because he can’t. Instead, he just takes Harry’s hand and slots his fingers in between. He gazes at Isobel as she begins to sing and quickly becomes transfixed by the soulful, decidedly un-childlike noises pouring from her mouth as she squeezes her eyes shut tight and rocks from side to side. The harmonies provided by the rest of the group provide a soothing, lulling rhythm and everything about it moves Louis deep inside. It’s everything from the memory he has of the night Jay came home with Lottie from the hospital and for the first time since Louis’ dad left, sang him to sleep, to the fact that Harry planned this for him, knowing how deeply it would touch him. Then there’s Isobel, sweet and unassuming, whose life must be a constant battle between being a regular child and just finding a way to get by, who sings with such conviction and such talent. Isobel, this beautiful little angel who deserves so much more than the harsh hand she’s been dealt.

 

As the song draws to a close, Louis’ eyes grow wetter and wetter. He feels Harry squeeze his hand and looks over to find Harry gazing at him instead of the kids, his eyes a different kind of moved with a sweeter kind of wetness melting their perfect green. Harry is moved by him. When the last note falls from Isobel’s lips, Louis takes his hand from Harry’s and bursts into rapturous, enthusiastic applause as Harry uses his fingers to whistle just loud enough to disturb the peace of the gardens. It’s worth it though because the kids look between Louis and Harry with huge, proud smiles on their faces and if nothing else, this is what Louis will give them…his approval.

 

Later, after hugging each and every child twice and giving Harry and Isobel matching braids, Louis trots down the street to Harry’s car, feeling understandably overwhelmed. When he reaches the car, trailing slightly behind Harry, Harry pushes him up against the door, cradling his head as he covers Louis’ mouth. Louis sucks in a little breath as Harry finds his tongue and Harry pushes his hands up inside Louis’ shirt, gripping onto his hips. Louis whines a little when Harry pulls away which makes Harry smile and duck down for one more.

 

“I’ve wanted to do that for the last hour,” Harry sighs, “Louis you were amazing--“

 

“Me?!” Louis exclaims, completely exasperated as he reverses their positions, pushing Harry back against the car, “you’re a fucking saint Harry Styles.”

 

Louis stretches up on his toes to kiss him but Harry forces him back down. Louis pouts in what he hopes is an adorable manner. Harry’s lips stretch up in response but he simply grabs Louis’ tie, folding it through his fingers as he talks.

 

“I’m not a saint. I just--when I turned eighteen, Gemma and I both got a ridiculously huge fund that was titled our “holiday fund” for the next five years,” Louis can hear the air quotes as Harry rolls his eyes, scoffing quietly, “and we knew we didn’t need it. If we were going to travel, we wanted to raise the money ourselves. Gemma suggested we do something different with it, something our parents would really despise but she didn’t know what--“

 

“So you came up with the what,” Louis covers Harry’s hands on his tie, “of course you did. You’re Harry.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes but he looks quietly pleased.

 

“Yeah. I just wanted a place for them…kids with no home and no place to go to and yet I knew we didn’t have enough to start up anything that could change their lives permanently. So I came up with a music program that would run in five different community centres across London. We bought the equipment for them to practice and hired vocal coaches and songwriters. We even have a little recording studio because I thought even if it’s just a bit of fun and they can’t make albums or anything crazy like that, it would make them feel worth something to have evidence of something they’ve made. So we give each kid a copy of the demos they make and when they come to the centre, they can play them on their breaks between practice.

 

“I guess I wanted to get these kids together so they could get to know each other as more than their counterparts to crime and homelessness. Like out on the streets, it’s who has the biggest crew and who knows how to get food without getting caught but inside that centre, they become kids again. They can discuss their solos or their favourite songs. Even the kids who don’t enjoy music, they come along and watch and it’s like…you can see how precious those moments are to them you know? These moments where they don’t have to think about sleeping rough or scouting out their next meal. I do my best to provide food for them while they’re there but even that, it’s just not enough. I wish I could do more. I asked the devil incarnate for some funds but she was already so furious about the initial project. You know what she said to me?”

 

“What?”

 

“Charity?” Harry spits, raising his eyebrows in an imperious, snobby expression, “we don’t fund charity. Why support something weaker than you and give it the chance to climb above you?”

 

“Fuck,” Louis swears, cringing at the bitterness in Harry’s expression, “Haz that’s awful. She’s awful. You know that’s probably why she hates you and Gems finding your independence. She doesn’t want you to flourish on your own terms because if you do, there’s a chance you’ll be greater than she is and have a better life than she ever will. I can guarantee that her unhappiness is what makes her so bitter about everybody else’s but Harry… babe,” Louis strokes the side of his neck, “you have done so much good for those kids. They were so happy to be given the opportunity to share something that they had worked on and telling them I was a prince? Brilliant. You just re-gifted them with the magic of childhood….the magic many of them would have lost along their journey. You gave them a chance to believe in happy endings and so they should. You do a lot of beautiful things Harry,” Louis bites down on his lip, trying to stem his emotions, “but the most beautiful thing you do is give people hope.”

 

Harry’s lips are on his almost instantly, kneading and sucking as Louis’ head spins with how good it feels…how good Harry tastes.

 

“You,” Harry kisses him needily, “ _you_ are amazing. You were so gentle with Isobel. I couldn’t take my eyes off you two but…what were you saying to her? You were whispering.”

 

“Oh,” Louis blushes and Harry raises his eyebrows in response, “I was just saying that she reminded me of well, me and that it meant she must have a princess somewhere inside.”

 

“That’s lovely. Why does that make you blush?”

 

Louis laughs as he tips back his head, avoiding eye contact. Harry brings his head right back, soothing the tension in his jaw with soft fingers and a bow shaped mouth twisted up in a fond smile.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Because I also told her that she was much luckier than me as she has lovely curls like you. I told her…” Louis gulps, “that one day she would be just as beautiful as you, inside and out.”

 

“Shit.”

 

Harry’s eyes are wide and alarmed and Louis frowns, his bottom lip dropping.

 

“I’m sorry I--“

 

“No,” Harry shakes his head and then kisses him desperately, “no it’s just—this date is _so_ not worthy of you Lou.”

 

“Harry, this was the best first date I’ve ever had! It was wonderful.”

 

“Fantastic!” Harry’ beams at him, “it’s not over yet though,” he says with a wink, rounding the car to his side, “chop chop Lou. Places to go, more things to see.”

 

Louis laughs delightedly and jumps into the car beside him.

 

……

 

“Is this your--“

 

“Studio, yeah. It belongs to a mate from school. I pay a small fee to rent it out because he owes me a few.”

 

The flat they’re standing in is situated in a building much like the one they live in, only the living space is twice the size. The walls are the kind of white that you usually only find in new houses and the lights that bathe the apartment in a natural, warm glow are bigger than the skylights in the halls in Louis and Harry’s building. That’s not what draws Louis attention though. What draws his attention is not the unfurnished flat or the picnic rug spread out over the middle of the floor but rather, the huge frames hanging all around the walls with the most stunning pictures of London filling them.

 

“Harry, these are beautiful,” Louis gushes, letting his feet carry him over to a frame that houses a picture of Kew Gardens in Autumn, the leaves all different shades of golden brown, the sky a soft, murky pink in the background, “why don’t you sell them?”

 

“For the same reason that you don’t do anything with that sketch book you carry around…because I don’t do it for anybody else. My photography for events is different. I enjoy showing people how stunning their happiness is and immortalising their memories but this--“ Harry smiles crookedly at the photo frames, “this is just my mind in pictures…and I like that. I don’t share it with people because it’s mine, you know? It’s not about how much it’s worth to anybody but me.”

 

“So why am I here?” Louis questions with an inquisitive look, “If you don’t like to share.”

 

Harry crosses the room to Louis and encircles his waist, pulling him up against his own body in a dramatic embrace.

 

“Because I want you to know my mind the way you’ve let me know yours,” he explains, guiding his hand over Louis’ jaw, “and because…I wanted to show you your frame.”

 

“Mine?”

 

Harry smiles mischievously at him and then darts over to the corner, pulling a huge photo frame from where it leans against the bottom of the wall. When he holds it up, Louis chokes on nothing.

 

“I haven’t had time to hang it yet but what do you think? If it bothers you, I won’t hang it but I just thought--“

 

Louis crosses the room and then takes the frame from Harry, leaning it back up against the wall. He can feel Harry watching him as he bends down before the image and traces his fingers across the juicy looking strawberry and then moves onwards to his own mouth bent around it. There’s the traces of frustration in the downward curve of his eyebrows and the stiffness of his cheekbones but he looks somewhat…enigmatic, like someone whose story you might want to uncover. The skin exposed by his tank is the same shade of golden as tropical sand and his eyes are shimmering blue, bright and sharp, like they’d never miss a wrong move.

 

“I l...look…I’m…” Louis struggles to find composure, tracing his actual lips as he gazes at the ones in the picture, “I look beautiful.”

 

When he looks up at Harry, Harry’s throat is bobbing, his eyes intensely focused on Louis with such deep emotion working over his features in waves. It looks like pride mixed in with satisfaction. It’s almost as if Harry were the one having a revelation.

 

“Thank you for making me look--“

 

Harry grabs his hand and quickly pulls him up and into his chest. He grips Louis’ cheeks between his palms and measures Louis’ thoughts with his penetrative gaze.

 

“I didn’t make you look anything,” he implores, “you _are_ beautiful Louis, irrespective of my camera. Now you see what the whole world sees when they look at you.”

 

“Not--“

 

“He is not part of the rational world as far as you’re concerned, okay?” Harry eyes him meaningfully, “he doesn’t know what beauty is.”

 

“Okay…but it’s not like you didn’t use effects to make my eyes look like that. I know how editing works Harold.”

 

“As do I,” Harry says seriously, “which is why I knew I didn’t need it. You’re fucking stunning on your own sweetheart.”

 

“Language, hipster.”

 

Harry kisses him into silence, squeezing at the base of Louis’ neck to get him to tilt his head back further so he can plunge his tongue more readily into Louis’ mouth. It draws a startled but desperate noise from Louis as he buries his hands in Harry’s hair, running his fingers through the soft curls that are fuzzy from his braids.

 

“You’re serious?” Louis pants as Harry mouths along his jaw, “no editing?”

 

“None,” Harry promises, grazing Louis’ jawline with his teeth and making him shiver, “that’s just how your eyes _are_. Like someone painted a mural of the oceans and the sky bleeding into one.”

 

“Fuck, everything you say about me…” Louis shakes his head, feeling utterly incoherent, “so poetic. So…wonderful.”

 

Harry continues to ravage his mouth for a few moments and then he pulls away, leading Louis over to the picnic rug and pulling him down onto his own lap with a sharp tug. It makes Louis giggle.

 

“So my mate set this up just before we came,” Harry reaches forward and dunks a strawberry in a bowl of melted chocolate and then brushes it up against Louis’ lips, “strawberry?”

 

Louis opens his mouth around it, holding Harry’s eyes as he sucks the chocolate away and then takes the rest between his lips. Harry lets out a whistle like noise as Louis leans down and grabs the back of his head, drawing their mouths together in a sweet tasting kiss.

 

“Mm,” Harry hums, “more please.”

 

Louis smiles at him and then reaches back for another strawberry, dipping it fully in the chocolate. As he draws it back to their party of two, the chocolate drips over his wrist. Louis raises it to his lips with a sigh but Harry shakes his head and draws Louis’ wrist up to his own mouth instead.

 

“Allow me.”

 

Louis is not at all prepared for the way Harry wraps an arm around him and squeezes as he sucks the chocolate off his wrist with a loud, wet noise. It goes straight to Louis’ dick. He pushes the strawberry up against Harry’s mouth and Harry sucks on it as slowly and as teasingly as Louis had before swallowing it whole. Louis slides further down his lap as he rocks forward into an urgent kiss, licking the taste off Harry’s tongue and whining a little as Harry grips his bum to keep him steady.

 

“You are the date master,” Louis sighs after an innumerable number of chocolate flavoured kisses and two glasses of champagne, “I bow to you.”

 

“Not done yet,” Harry visibly glows from the praise as he tugs Louis up into a standing position, “want to see what’s in the other room?”

 

Louis nods much too eagerly and it must please Harry because he leans forward and cups Louis’ cheeks, kissing him with a delicate kind of fervour. Then without a word he strides away into the adjoining room as Louis follows quickly behind. The other room has fewer photographs but instead houses a huge canvas hanging upon an easel at the front. There’s a transportable shelf housing a huge variety of paints beside it and the floor is covered from corner to corner in newspapers.

 

“I know how much you like to paint,” Harry says, looking a little shy as he rocks forward on the balls of feet, “but you don’t really have the space to do it. I thought…if you wanted, you could come here from time to time.”

 

“Harry--“

 

Harry pulls a small key from his pocket and holds it out to Louis with heated cheeks.

 

“I didn’t want to make a big deal. I just thought it would be nice for you but--“

 

“It would be,” Louis hastens to agree, “of course it would,” Harry lights up but Louis’ not finished, “but Haz, this is your space. It’s for you. You don’t want me here--“

 

“I do want you here,” Harry cuts him off and then steps close, tucking the key into the front pocket of Louis’ jeans and patting the spot, “because you deserve to have somewhere like this when you need to breathe.”

 

Louis twists his mouth with indecision, curling a hand around Harry’s waist and brushing his thumb over the line of his ribcage. Harry’s eyelashes flutter tellingly. Just like Louis, he’s moved by the simplest of touches.

 

“And what about when you need to breathe?”

 

Harry doesn’t pause as he brushes his mouth over Louis’ and sighs into his mouth, “I breathe easier with you.”

 

“So um…” Harry steps back, rocking on his feet again like he’s not sure how to act now that he’s said something so meaningful, “I thought we could paint like… with our hands. Thought it would be fun.”

 

“Yes,” Louis agrees, grinning excitedly now as he steps up to survey the paints, “I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”  


“There’s just one problem…”

 

Louis twists back to look at Harry.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Harry’s expression is playful as he gestures to Louis’ torso with his chin.

 

“You don’t want to get your lovely shirt ruined. I think…” Harry’s eyes twinkle as he passes a hand over his chin, feigning deep thought, “yes I think it might be better if you just take it off.”

 

Louis laughs long and loud, his head thrown back with delight. Then he shakes his finger at Harry, still borderline beaming.

 

“You planned this, you crude, perverted hipster!”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry acknowledges with a cute tilt of his curly head, “but Lou, I only have your best interests at heart.”

 

Louis snorts but then smirks as an idea comes to him.

 

“What?” Harry asks, studying his face with evident curiosity.

 

Louis struts over to him and then starts undressing him. Harry doesn’t protest but still watches him with bated breath and clear confusion. Once Harry’s down to his briefs, Louis pushes him down against the newspaper and straddles his naked waist. Harry’s hands clamp down against his sides, kneading his skin and then he tilts his head up, nipping at Louis’ lips. Louis lets himself be lead into a kiss but instead of opening his mouth against Harry’s, he just brushes against it, closed mouthed, in a teasing breath of a kiss.

 

“Now that you’re all good to go…” Louis splays his hands out over Harry’s ribcage as he greedily lathes his tongue over the swallows on Harry’s chest. A satisfied smirk spreads over his face at the sound of Harry cursing his name, “you can sit back and watch.”

 

“What?” Harry squeaks, fingers digging into Louis’ sides.

 

Louis doesn’t answer. Instead he rises to his feet and shucks the leather jacket off, letting it land with a soft thud behind him. He’s not sure when he decided he could do something like this, that, in fact, he has the c _onfidence_ to do something like this but it fills him up in this moment, powering his movements and chasing away any nerves as he stares Harry down. Maybe it’s that picture and how it felt to look at himself and see something other than flaws. More than that, it might be how incredibly he empowered suddenly feels thinking that perhaps he could have been wrong this whole time. Maybe there was never anything wrong with him. Maybe he really couldn’t see the truth hiding behind the insults hurled at him. It’s a huge revelation and Louis’ not sure he’s ready to accept it but it fills him with new found courage anyway…the courage to go forth and reduce Harry Styles to a hopelessly aroused mess.

 

“Oh fuck,” Harry curses, falling back on his hands like an overwhelmed child, “you’re not about to--“

 

“Strip?” Louis brings his hands to his tie, loosening it quickly so he’s able to pull it from around his neck. He dangles it in the air for a moment before draping it around Harry’s shoulders and crossing it over his bare neck, “yes love, I am.”

 

Harry’s hands clamp down over his face as he groans.

 

“Trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

 

Louis giggles and then pulls Harry’s hands away.

 

“You accuse me of that so often. No, I’m not,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt slowly and getting off on the way Harry’s eyes are glued to his chest. That heated, emerald gaze doesn’t stray from the V shaped column of honeyed skin slowly being exposed with each button, “just putting you in your place Styles.”

 

Louis shucks his shirt off and then drops down, sliding into Harry’s lap and bringing Harry’s hands up to touch his nipples as he grabs Harry’s face between his hands and initiates a much needed snog. Harry tweaks his nipples and then rolls them between his fingers. Louis grinds down against his crotch accordingly and moans into his mouth. However, it only takes one of Harry’s hands sliding around to palm at his arse to remind him that he’s still half dressed. He wrenches his mouth from Harry’s and stands again, Harry looking downright feverish and woefully disappointed at the withdrawal. Louis tucks his thumbs inside the waistline of his trousers and then winks at Harry, coquettish and coy, as he turns to face the wall. He begins to pull his trousers down over his bum at a deliberately slow pace and is rewarded by what sounds like a strangled Harry thumping his hand against the floor. Louis lets his trousers fall to his ankles and then steps out of them, quite purposely bending down to straighten them out. Harry lets out a long stream of expletives and while Louis senses this is a positive thing, this is his real moment of truth and now his knees start to wobble, his cheeks filling with warmth as he turns to face his date.

 

“L-Louis,” Harry stutters, his green eyes like saucers in his face, “oh g-god. Are you--“

 

“Wearing white lace panties? Yeah,” Louis tries for casual as he stares determinedly at the floor, “I wasn’t sure what—I mean, I like lace. I don’t--it’s not like a _thing_ , I just like the feel of them a..and Duncan was never into it so like, it’s okay if you’re not but I...I mean cause you liked the eyeliner and you seemed like--“

 

“Louis,” Harry says with a tremble in his voice, “Lou, you’re driving me mad. Please look at me.”

 

It takes him a moment to summon the strength but when Louis finally raises his eyes, it’s worth it. The green of Harry’s eyes has all but been swallowed by the dark of his pupils and there he sits with a hand pressed urgently against his crotch, his expression pained. He slowly removes his hand and Louis’ mouth goes completely dry at the sight of the huge erection pressing up against his grey briefs.

 

“Harry--“

 

“I’m so hot for you,” Harry says, tone husky, “ _all_ the time but I have never, _ever_ been as hot for you as I am right now.”

 

Louis’ legs shake for all kinds of reasons as he makes his way towards Harry. Harry pulls him down into his lap and then their lips surge against each other, tongues tugging at each other in between as Louis grinds down hard and Harry rocks up against his arse.

 

“Can you do something for me?” Harry pants against his mouth.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Can you please get down on the floor…hands and knees? I’m not--I just want to look. Please.”

 

“Um yeah, yes,” Louis agrees, bobbing his head way too fast as he gazes at Harry’s dilated pupils, completely transfixed by the sight.

 

He makes to move but Harry grips the side of his waist to stop him, cupping his cheek with unexpected gentleness.

 

“As long as you’re comfortable,” he murmurs, “only as long as you feel comfortable.”

 

“Of course I do,” Louis replies, “I’m with you.”

 

They kiss softly and then Louis gets down onto the floor, burying his head in a pillow made by his arms as he pushes his arse up into the air. There’s nothing but silence for a moment, as if Harry might need that time just to gather his thoughts but then Louis hears the rustling of paper and warm hands settle over his bum as Harry gingerly squeezes the globes of his arse. Louis’ insides feel hot and leaky as his knees slide further apart, parting his legs for Harry’s and his own pleasure. Harry clearly appreciates it, cursing again and pushing Louis’ arse cheeks against each other with a tight grip. Then Louis feels warm moisture sinking into the curve of his scantily clad bum.

 

“Harry,” Louis sighs with contentment as Harry takes a mouthful of the soft, firm skin between his lips.

 

“Yeah Lou?” Harry sounds panicked as he smooths his hands across the sides of Louis’ arse, “this okay?”

 

“Yeah, oh _fuck_ ,” Louis swears as Harry gently bites down on his bum cheek, “it’s more than okay. “

 

Harry seems to take that as his cue, sucking a trail of wet, desperate kisses along the sides of Louis’ bum cheeks and biting in between, the softness sliding between his teeth like damp silk. It makes Louis shudder and roll his hips back against Harry’s mouth, begging for more.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers, pressing his thumbs into the smooth skin surrounding the cleft of Louis’ arse to spread him wide, “your arse baby…it’s so beautiful.”

 

Louis buries an embarrassingly high pitched moan-turned-sob in his arms but Harry hears and smooths his hands over Louis’ lower back, gently massaging his hips.

 

“You deserve this sweetheart. I want to make you feel so good.”

 

“Please,” Louis gasps, slobbering against his own arm, “please Harry.”

 

Louis cries out with alarm as he’s abruptly flipped over onto his back. Harry leans over him with a disconcertingly sad expression on his face. Louis traces the stiff set of his bottom lip with his own thumb, his eyes welling up with shame.

“What did I do?” he asks, voice small “did you change your mind?”

 

“No,” Harry gasps, “god, _no_.”

 

He kisses Louis furiously but then swears as he feels Louis’ tears melting across his cheeks in the places where their faces touch.

 

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” Harry begs with heartbroken eyes, smoothing his thumbs along the bottoms of Louis’ eyes with panic, “I’m so sorry. It’s nothing you did. I mean…it’s nothing you meant to do. Just…remember what I said about begging? I don’t want you to beg darling.”

 

“Oh,” Louis laughs at himself, suddenly embarrassed, “oh I see.”

 

Harry kisses him again, drying the rest of his tears.

 

“Can you tell me what you want?”

 

Louis sucks on Harry’s bottom lip while he gathers the courage to speak and then pecks Harry’s lips before drawing back.

 

“I want you to eat me out. Will you?”

 

“God yes,” Harry kisses him and then flips him back over onto his stomach with ease, “I’ve wanted to for so long.”

 

Louis shivers and then moans, rolling his hips back to encourage Harry to touch. Harry spreads him open again and then sighs happily.

 

“What?” Louis questions, breathless.

 

“I just never thought I’d get to eat out a beautiful man in lacy white panties on the best first date of my life. You are my best wet dream come true Louis Tomlinson.”

 

“Pl--I want you to touch me Harry, I need you to.”  


Harry doesn’t mince words, instead leaning forward to plant one gentle kiss against the crevice of Louis’ arse, right at the top. Louis opens his mouth to ask for more but Harry is already on it, opening his mouth along the line of Louis’ crack and then moving down to suck on the sensitive skin around his hole, dampening the thin material stretched across it with the moistness of his mouth. Louis’ needy whine turns silent as his mouth forms an ‘oh’ and he stretches his back. Harry follows his movement with a hungry noise and then buries his face deeper in between Louis’ arse cheeks. Louis hips’ crack when his legs splay out, his knees sliding ridiculously far out along the paper as Harry’s arms encircle his waist to keep him steady. Harry squeezes him and then hauls Louis back against his mouth, working at the edges of his hole with tiny but concentrated kitten licks until Louis starts to whine with desperation and Harry relents. He brushes along Louis’ opening with his tongue, working the wet material inside with short, sharp thrusts. Louis’ cock thickens, pushing angrily against the front of the papery thin lace and pulsing so hard, he can feel the same beat pounding in his head.

 

“Oh Harry, _fuck_ ,” Louis throws his head back, panting as the lace glides along the walls of his arse, Harry’s tongue swirling around the inside of his hole, “your fucking tongue. Don’t stop. Just— _more_. More now.”

 

Harry tugs his panties down to the tops of his thighs and then gently pushes on his back to encourage him to lie down on his stomach. Louis parts his legs automatically and Harry lies between them, covering Louis’ hips with his hands. Louis is not expecting Harry to blow a raspberry against his opening. He giggles loudly, jerking in Harry’s hold.

 

“Harry,” he scolds with a twitching mouth, “not what I meant.”

 

“I know baby,” Harry kisses the bottom of Louis’ spine and kneads his hips with his thumbs, “I just couldn’t resist.”

 

“Harr-mnnfff, _oh_ …oh _shit_ ,” Harry wraps strong arms around his thighs and lifts him up, sucking kisses along the backs of his thighs and warming Louis’ skin with his mouth. It makes Louis twitch in his hold, “oh god.”

 

Harry lets him down again, pulling his legs free of the lace panties and then pulling Louis’ cock down through his legs and tugging at its throbbing thickness while he licks around the base of Louis’ balls. Louis’ eyes squeeze half shut and his cock leaks pre come against Harry’s warm fingers. Harry spreads it around the head with his thumb and then licks from the base of Louis’ balls, up the entirety of his crack to the cleft at the very top of his arse. Louis’ body tries to roll in accordance with how Harry’s tongue moves but Harry just pushes him down with a patient hand as he sucks Louis’ rim into his mouth with no warning. His lips pucker tightly around Louis’ hairless entrance and the feeling of Harry’s mouth sucking greedily on his rim is like nothing Louis’ ever felt. It’s intoxicating and he’s never felt closer to another human being than he does to Harry in that moment. At the same time, Harry rubs determinedly over Louis’ slit, circling the head and twisting his wrist just right as he jerks Louis off. Louis cries out Harry’s name, his pleasure escalating to the point where his head feels fuzzy with sensation and his toes start to curl, crinkling the newspaper.

 

“Harry pl--oh my god, _Harry_. You-you’re—“

 

Harry releases his arse with a wet noise.

 

“Good Lou?”

 

“I hate you,” Louis growls, which transitions into a breathless whimper when Harry licks a fat, stripe across his hole, his rim fluttering needily beneath Harry’s tongue, “Uh. _Fuck_ I don’t. I’m sorry.”

 

Harry continues to tease, licking back and forth over his hole at a leisurely pace as Louis’ knees slide in and out from beneath him, his body convulsing. Harry’s hands form a protective hold over his stomach, squeezing slightly to keep him still.

 

“Harry,” Louis pants, “just want your tongue--“ Louis chokes on air and his voice cuts out completely as he convulses again, Harry’s hand moving more quickly over the slickness covering his dick, “--in me.”

 

Harry draws back completely and Louis cries out, disappointed.

 

“I just want you to know something.”

 

“Yes. Good, great, what is it?” Louis hurries to say.

 

Harry chuckles and then wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling Louis up onto his knees so Louis’ back is pressed against his front where he kneels behind him. Harry grabs Louis’ chin and turns his head, stroking the underside of his jaw as he kisses him with slow, deep thrusts of his tongue that get Louis whimpering into his mouth, just longing for more.

 

“I never thought I’d get to take you out on a date. You were somebody else’s and I didn’t need that kind of complication in my life,” Louis frowns but Harry just smooths his hair down, smile soft and satisfied, “but I guess I didn’t know…”

 

“Didn’t know?” Louis prompts.

 

“That you would potentially be the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Harry cups his face, bringing their mouths together again, “and that I would feel drunk on you and your body every moment that we’re together.”  
  
“Harry,” Louis’ eyes well up, unable to say much more.

 

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He collapses onto his stomach and then turns over so that his head is positioned directly beneath Louis arse. He tugs Louis down so that Louis’ hole is poised above his mouth.

 

“Sit on my--“

 

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Louis gently settles over his mouth and then gasps as Harry’s tongue enters him. Louis begins to rise up and then settle back down just as quickly, drawing Harry’s tongue in and out of him in tight, wet strokes that make him see white. When he slides his knees out further, spreading his hole out over Harry’s mouth, Harry lifts his head up into it, licking all the more ferociously. His fingers clench around Louis’ thighs and he holds Louis against his face, fucking up into Louis with his tongue, just barely grazing Louis’ sweet spot with the tip. It makes Louis shout and his hips roll downward against Harry’s tongue with mechanical consistency as the fire in the pit of his stomach burns hotter.

 

“Lou,” Harry pulls his mouth away and Louis whimpers, “touch yourself.”

 

Louis hisses his relief and then wraps a hand around himself, sliding his knees in and out at the same pace that he moves his hand over his dick. Harry’s tongue begins to jab against him more insistently and with every stroke, Louis’ cock pulses hard in his hand. Then Harry’s thumbs press against his rim, spreading him wide while his tongue delves long and deep, so deep that it presses flat against Louis’ prostate and Louis comes into his fist, shouting Harry’s name as his eyes roll back into his head. His knees don’t stop sliding out as Harry continues to lick around his walls, driving him crazy as he tightens and contracts around Harry’s tongue. It’s only when he begins to whimper continuously, his thighs shaking from the incredible but torturous sensations inflicted upon him that Harry slides out from beneath him.

 

“Harry,” Louis says, swivelling around and forcing Harry onto his back as he climbs atop him, “oh my god Harry. That was amazing.”

 

They kiss vigorously until Louis pulls away to trail kisses down Harry’s chest while Harry’s fingers slide into his hair. When Louis starts to ease his briefs down, Harry freezes and Louis looks up at him, confused.

 

“Just—don’t push yourself.”

 

“Harry,” Louis bends his head and kisses Harry’s stomach, “you’re not him. I’m not who I was when I was with him.”

 

Harry nods his assent so Louis continues his quest, tugging Harry’s briefs down to his ankles. He feels his throat go dry and his limp dick twitch at the sight of Harry, already rock hard and dripping with pre come. Harry shrugs, his smile lazy and smug.

 

“You taste good and your arse is just--eating you out riles me up okay?”

 

“Okay,” Louis smirks at him and then takes the head of Harry’s dick in his mouth, sucking desperately.

 

“Oh my--“Louis sinks down further and Harry’s head bangs against the floor, “the pressure--oh christ, _Louis_!”

 

Louis swirls his tongue around the outside of Harry’s dick and then draws back, flattening his tongue out along the underside before pursing his lips tightly and sinking back down. He puts his hands on Harry’s thighs, parting them gently and Harry’s legs spasm as Louis replaces his mouth with his hand. He works over Harry’s cock fast while he licks around the head, spreading wetness around Harry’s sensitive slit. Then he takes a wild chance and rubs his thumb over Harry’s hole. Harry lets out a choked off moan and starts to come, shivering beneath Louis’ heated gaze. Louis covers the head of Harry’s cock with his mouth, sucking the come from Harry’s slit as he seeps warm and sticky against Louis’ tongue, moaning obscenely at the way Louis sucks him so tightly.

 

“Oh Lou, oh god. I need you to—“Harry cuts off, his voice breaking and then cutting out completely thanks to the intense pressure of Louis’ mouth around him.

 

 Still, Louis gets the point. He takes his mouth away, wiping at his come smeared lips. They stare at each other, the air thick with lasting tension and then Harry smiles, full and happy as Louis leans down to kiss him, sharing Harry’s taste with him.

 

“Wow,” Harry sighs, “you’re… _wow_.”

 

“Right back at you babe. Now let’s paint.”

 

Louis pulls Harry up with a wide smile and they meander over to the canvas together, Harry joining their hands and looking down at Louis like he’s the only person in the world that he wants to be with right now. He looks at Louis like Louis must have created sunshine, moonlight and everything in between. Louis has never felt this glow inside, like the light within him must be lying silvery and soft along his skin, shining through his bones and exposing just how luminous he feels in Harry’s company.

 

In comfortable silence, they begin to paint. Louis starts out with coloured hand prints but then quickly follows Harry’s lead, smudging them together to make what looks like a sunset. The bright reds, curtesy of Louis and floral pinks, chosen by Harry, bleed together like the last traces of the hottest, sunniest day London might have ever seen. Together they decide on making the bottom half an ocean and Louis falls headfirst into an artistic daze, lost in how captivating the colours look as they run together. The somewhat messy but intimate patterns created by their fingers only enhance the abstract effect and Louis feels surprisingly choked up looking at the smaller shape of his thumb prints alongside Harry’s bigger ones. When the painting is done, they stand back to look at it with similarly contented smiles.

 

“Harry,” Louis says with a neutral tone, “would you face me babe?”

 

Harry turns to him, much too trusting and Louis cackles, lurching forward to paint Harry’s face in coral blue. Unfortunately his devious, smug cackle gives him away and Harry’s hands wrap around his forearms instead, catching him before he can do any damage. Harry chortles at the growl that escapes Louis’ lips as he wheels, or at least tries to wheel his arms. Harry holds tight, preventing any kind of movement and awakening Louis’ wrath in the process.

 

“Oh Lou,” Harry regards him with a falsely sympathetic tilt of his head, “you’re too small. You’re just not strong enough to beat me baby.”  


Harry abruptly lets him go, only to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist and press his open palms against Louis’ back. He smooths his paint covered hands over the entirety of Louis’ back and then gathers Louis’ naked bum in his hands. The freezing paint elicits an embarrassing squeak as Louis jumps forward, pressing closer to Harry and away from his evil hands. Harry giggles delightedly and it’s then that Louis releases his vengeful side, freeing his hands from between their bodies and cupping Harry’s face. He continues to spread the bright blue paint around Harry’s cheeks with his thumbs until Harry looks an awful lot like a cute, curly haired smurf. Harry throws his head back laughing as Louis bends lower, smearing paint across his nipples and his stomach too.

 

“Enough,” Harry shouts, still amused and then bends over Louis, wrapping his arms around his waist and throwing him back over his shoulder.

 

Louis growls wildly but Harry just pats his bum and then lies him out on the floor. He lowers himself down over Louis and then kisses him until Louis’ limbs all feel like jelly.

 

“Now,” Harry says, an attractive half smile on his lips, the edges tinged in blue, “I want to tour you.”

 

Harry rolls over beside him and Louis laughs, rolling onto his side to look at Harry with confusion.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Lay down,” Harry orders him with a smile, “please.”

 

Louis sighs but stretches out over the newspaper anyway. Harry rolls up onto his side and then traces the line of Louis’ “ _it is what it is_ ” tattoo with his pointer finger.

 

“I’ve never asked,” He murmurs, “why do you have this?”

 

“You don’t want to know,” Louis says, closing his eyes with resignation.

 

“I do,” Harry skates a thumb over his closed eyelids, “I want to know _you_ sweetheart. All of you.”

 

Louis sighs his defeat and then lets his eyes flutter open. Harry folds his arms over Louis’ stomach and then rests his head on Louis’ naked middle. His curls are all fluffy and so very touchable and Louis can’t resist petting him as he speaks. His smile drips adoration as he watches Harry’s eyelids fall to half closed every time he flattens his hand out fully along his scalp.

 

“Before I met Duncan, there was this one night stand. Some skinny blonde. Not my type at all but beer goggles will do that to you. In the morning, he told me it was fun but that I wasn’t exactly fit. I wasn’t looking for more either but he made me feel like shit anyway. He said, ‘it is what it is mate, some people were made for catwalks and some people like their burgers with extra grease.’”

 

Louis watches Harry struggle against the haze induced by the gentle petting of his hair.

 

“That prick. Louis--”

 

“Yeah I know and I did think it… I told everybody I knew what I thought of that arsehole.”

 

“But?”

 

“But what if he was right? I didn’t want him to be but maybe that was why everybody was content to have _just_ one night with me. I wasn’t good for anything more. Fun but not the kind of boy you take home to meet your mother and not the kind of guy you want to sleep with more than once. So,” Louis sighs, staring into Harry’s mournful eyes, “when Art asked me what I wanted my first tat to be, that phrase came back to me and I decided to get it as a--as like, you know, a reminder.”

 

“Of?”

 

“That I shouldn’t expect anything. I’m not beautiful or valuable but it is what it is and I have to make my peace with that. At least that’s how I felt then.”

 

“And now?” Harry asks with hope warming his beautiful green eyes.

 

Louis pats his hair down again, scratching the back of his neck and delighting in the resulting purr.

 

“Now? It’s changing.”

 

Harry smiles but it’s not fully turned up at the edges. He squeezes Louis’ sides and then kisses Louis’ chest.

 

“Can I tell you what I think gorgeous?”

 

Louis’ heart thumps unevenly at the endearment. He nods obediently.

 

“You’re not going to be everybody’s cup of tea because none of us are but by the same token, anyone who dares to call you anything less than fit is bat shit crazy in my opinion. I don’t know why anyone would be satisfied with one night Lou because even if all I knew was this,” Harry smooths a hand across Louis’ stomach, soft and silky, “I’d still want more. I’d want you naked in my bed for as long as you were willing. As for the rest? You are the boy I took to meet the devil—sorry, my mother,” Louis chuckles, “and…” Harry bites his lip, hiding his face against Louis’ chest as his curls tickle Louis’ sensitive skin, “I want to sleep with you Louis Tomlinson, again and again and again and—well, you get the point.”

 

Louis tugs Harry’s head up and then taps his nose with a finger, a charmed smile lighting up his face.

 

“You’re adorable,” he sighs, “I can’t believe this is happening to me…that _you_ are happening to me. If only I met you before I got that ink.”

 

Harry shakes his head and then slides further up. He presses a trail of kisses along the line of the tattoo and then one to Louis’ mouth.

 

“It doesn’t have to mean what it used to. How about this? You _are_ beautiful, you _are_ valuable Louis. You’ve been treated so awfully and so unfairly by people who never deserved to press their lips against yours. It is what it is and it will never be erased but it will never be your truth. Your truth, Louis, is that you outshine all the darkness that they tried to infect your soul with. That smile alone, brighter than anything about them baby.”

 

Louis is mesmerised. He lies motionless as Harry picks up his wrist, fingers skimming over the date inked there.

 

“This your anniversary?” He questions with an unreadable expression.

 

“No,” Louis answers, still with a frog in his throat and emotion clogging his chest, “the date we met actually.”

 

“Does it bother you?”

 

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, “but I haven’t…I haven’t really been ready to do anything about it yet.”

 

“That’s fair enough,” Harry says, bringing Louis’ wrist to his lips, “don’t rush yourself.”

 

Harry traces his other tattoos with a thoughtful expression, stopping to ask Louis about the ones that really pique his curiosity, delighted to hear that the L on his shoulder is for Lottie and that the one of the stick figures holding hands is for Jay and Dan. Louis falls asleep at some point with Harry’s head on his stomach and his fingers combing through Harry’s silky curls. When he awakens, it’s to Harry holding him as he gently cleans the paint off his back with a warm, wet cloth.

 

“Haz,” Louis mumbles, still half asleep, which is the only excuse can make for the rest of his nonsensical sentence, “Haz, you’re me--my…baby.”

 

Harry chuckles and kisses just beside his eye. Louis’ face scrunches at the unexpected sensation which makes Harry chuckle again.

 

“No love,” he says quietly, “you’re my baby.”

 

Louis can’t disagree because even when his sleep addled brain is replaced with semi awareness, he still concedes to Harry dressing him, too floppy and contented to protest the special care. Besides which, he can tell how happy it makes Harry to do this for him, his green eyes shining wonderfully bright as he straightens Louis’ tie and then uses it to tug him into a kiss.

 

“Onward Mr Tomlinson,” he murmurs, “we have one more stop.”

 

Louis shakes his head in disbelief and winds his arms around Harry, rubbing his chin against Harry’s chest and looking up at him with blatant adoration.   


“And you told them _I_ was the prince.”

 

……

 

Louis knocks on the door with a bitten lip, twining his fingers with Harry’s as he taps his foot.

 

“Don’t be nervous,” Harry says, playing with the side of Louis’ hair, “it’s nothing scary.”

 

The door creaks open and Mrs Dawson immediately grasps Louis’ hands, her eyes bright with joy.

 

“You must be Louis, dear. I’ve heard all about you this morning,” Mrs Dawson nods, her eyes twinkling as she squeezes Louis’ hands, about the same size as her own, “Harry kept talking about your eyes and your beautiful smile and how he’s so very in—“

 

“Mrs Dawson,” Harry intercedes quickly, “I’m not sure Louis needs to hear an _entire_ recount of our conversation, does he?”

 

Her eyes laugh back at him because she knows very well why he stopped her right there. Louis doesn’t look as amused, glancing between them with a furrowed brow.

 

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

 

“Nope, not at all,” Harry says smoothly, Louis raising a challenging eyebrow that so clearly says, “you’re a terrible liar Harold and I don’t believe you.” “This is our neighbour and my good friend Mrs Dawson.”

 

“Lovely to meet you,” Louis says, reluctantly returning his gaze to the hunched, old woman in the doorway, “your jumper is stunning.”

 

Mrs Dawson lights up, the age spots on her cheeks wobbling slightly as she smiles at him and squeezes his shoulder.

 

“You’re just as lovely as I thought. Harry needs a lovely young man like yourself. Now come inside dear so we can show you your surprise. Harry enlisted my help and I was happy to oblige.”

 

Harry follows Louis in and then winks at Mrs Dawson to let her know she can leave them. She smiles and then waddles out of the room. Louis drops to his knees on the floor, gazing all around him like he’s never seen such a spectacular sight in all his life.

 

“Harry,” Louis gazes up at him with a strange kind of slack jawed shock and the beginnings of wonder curling around his lips, “so many little cockroaches.”

 

Harry’s eyes scrunch with pleasant surprise as amusement bubbles to his lips. There’s six long haired, ginger kittens all together and they all look predictably enamoured with Louis the instant they notice his presence. Harry knows the feeling. There’s a kitten climbing over each of Louis’ knees, one butting its head up against his back, looking for attention and another two currently being stroked by each of Louis’ hands. The remaining kitten has the prime position, nuzzled up against Louis’ stomach, the way Harry would like to be, as it quickly falls asleep in his lap.

 

“Mrs Dawson’s cat Rosa had kittens and she wants to get rid of them. Says she’s too old to look after a whole brood of animals so I told her we’d take one. I want you to pick which one Lou.”

 

Louis looks down at the kitten sleeping in his lap and takes his hand from the one by his side to pet at it, the tan of his skin almost entirely covered by the soft ginger fur. The kitten makes a happy squealing noise that Harry surmises is its undeveloped and adorable attempt at a meow and then rubs its nose up against Louis’ thigh. Louis looks completely smitten. A smitten kitten really. _Ha_. Harry supposes he probably does have a terrible sense of humour.

 

“Harry,” Louis says, caution in his tone as he gazes ever so fondly at the kitten, “we can’t just get a pet together. That’s crazy. This is our first date…it’s been a week. I can’t just--“

 

Harry saw this coming a mile away so he kneels down beside Louis, plucking the kitten from Louis’ lap. Louis’ makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and honestly, could Harry fall any deeper in love than this? He holds the kitten against his stomach and lifts its paws.

 

“I know but if it really bothers you that much, we can say it’s mine,” Harry raises his pitch and then moves the kittens paws to make somewhat human-like hand gestures, “please Lou…please adopt me. I’m so lonely here. I want you to be my daddy. I’m such a cute little cockroach. Pleeeeease.”

 

Harry’s thumb rubs a circle over the tension lines around Louis’ mouth as he tries to contain a smile.

 

“Stop it,” Louis scolds him, “he’s not cute and neither are you. I don’t want to own him. I don’t even like cats.”

 

“It’s a he?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes but then the kitten rolls over in Harry’s lap, bearing its stomach and Louis’ expression softens as he reaches out and scratches his tummy, eyes melting watery blue with affection. Harry stretches across to kiss his forehead.

 

“If we get this kitten…” Louis starts as Harry fists pumps and grins smugly into his eyes, “do I get to name it?”

 

“Course,” Harry agrees instantly, "so what will it be?"

 

.......

 

“I think he likes Bradley.”

 

“I cannot believe you decided on that name.”

 

“Just look at them. Look at the way Hugh is licking him clean. Friendly little cockroach brothers.”

 

 “Like why Bradley? His name is Brad. No scratch that, why Brad Pitt? He has nothing on Hugh Grant.”

 

Louis kneels down on the carpet beside the dining room table and then stretches out on his stomach. He smooths his hand over the back of Bradley’s fur with a hopelessly adoring smile as Hugh tries unsuccessfully to bat his hand away with his tiny grey head. Louis twists on his side as Harry stretches out beside him.

 

“Look at you,” Harry murmurs, lips pursed with some kind of contained joy, “you’re in love with your kitten.”

 

“ _Your_ kitten,” Louis corrects with a twitching mouth, clasping Harry’s face in his hand, “and if you’re looking for me to admit I’ve been converted, you don’t know me very well.”

 

“Brad Pitt Lou?” Harry groans suddenly, “Really?”

 

Louis chuckles and then nips at Harry’s lips with his own.

 

“Are you jealous darling?”

 

Harry shakes his head, an unwitting smile flitting over his lips as his liquid green eyes zone in on Louis’ mouth. He rolls them over, Louis beneath him, cradling Louis’ head like the endearingly protective soul he is. Then he leans down to take Louis’ top lip between his and sighs deeply into Louis’ mouth.

 

“What if he comes and sweeps you off your feet?” Harry asks with a practised pout, rubbing his thumbs across the soft shallows that lie either side of Louis’ nose, “what if he lures you away with his fame and fortune? He is one smooth operator Lou.”

 

Louis’ nose crinkles as he grins and tugs Harry back down into a much deeper kiss.

 

“Not as smooth as you Harry Styles,” Louis rasps, tracing Harry’s upper lip with his tongue and delighting in the way Harry’s head falls brokenly into his neck, “I’m not willing to part with that mouth of yours yet.”  


Louis can feel Harry’s dimples against his neck. Harry rolls them over again, cupping Louis’ hips with his warm hands and focusing all his unwavering attention on Louis’ eyes.

 

“Did you have a good day?” He asks gently.

 

Louis feels his heart press flush against his rib cage as Harry’s eyes dart around, measuring the flicker of Louis’ eyelashes and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, trying to gauge anything about his thoughts from the way his body reacts. Harry bites his lip and squeezes Louis a little tighter like he’s genuinely afraid Louis might want to escape.

 

“The best,” Louis promises, “I’ve honestly never felt so…”

 

Louis coughs in an attempt to remove the lump in his throat and of course Harry notices. He slowly traces Louis’ sides with his hands, massaging the tension away in his chest and then his shoulders, gliding up his neck to cup his chin and the sides of his face. Louis just focuses on breathing in and out at a regular human pace.

 

“So?” Harry prompts with a quirk in his lips and an arch of his eyebrows.

 

“So special. Nobody has ever made me feel so special before.”

 

Harry’s eyes deepen and seemingly shiver with emotion. He presses gentle lines into the sides of Louis’ face and then kisses him, tracing Louis’ tongue with such gentleness and such precision, pulling his tongue away just as Louis hums in his throat, always searching for more. Harry comforts him, resuming their kiss with longer sweeping brushes of his tongue, his lips pushing against Louis’ with a tender but still, firm kind of pressure that quickens Louis’ heartbeat and makes his veins buzz with feeling.

 

“Today was about exactly that darling…showing you how exquisite you are and everything that you deserve,” Harry brushes his lips against Louis’ as he holds his gaze, “because a regular date isn’t justifiable when it’s you and when you’re yet to realise all that you have to offer. I couldn’t justify taking you out to dinner and a movie or curling up in bed and watching all your favourite movies, although of course both are a must at some point. I couldn’t because it’s _you_ , Louis and when you were lying on the floor of that flat, unconscious and beaten within an inch of your life, I knew that if I just got the chance to see your baby blues open into mine once more, I’d never take them for granted. I’d never let you feel that you were being taken for granted.

 

“Lou, I just want you to know that whatever he took from you, I want to help you find,” Harry grabs his hand and squeezes, eyes full of watery determination, “wherever he hurt you, I want to help you heal,” Harry’s hand brushes over the side of his torso, “and most importantly, whatever he made you feel, whatever he made you think was true…I want to show you that it isn’t. I can’t fix it for you darling but I’ll be here, I’ll be holding your hand the whole way.”

 

“Shit,” Louis swears and wipes the back of his hand across his eyes, “you’ve got to stop making me cry Styles.”

 

Harry chuckles and then leans down and kisses the top of one eyelid and then the other.

 

“C’mon,” he says, “we’ve got one more thing to do.”

 

Louis lets Harry pull him up and into his side and then follows him into the kitchen. Harry starts pulling ingredients from the fridge and then lines them up on the counter next to Louis.

 

“You’re going to make me dinner?”

 

“Not exactly,” Harry says with a grin.

 

Louis raises an eyebrow.

 

“You remember the other day, you admitted that you’d always felt awful that Duncan did all the cooking and the cleaning?”

 

“Yeah….” Louis says with caution.

 

“Well, it was never an excuse for him to treat you the way he did and I hope you know that but….I was thinking,” Harry grabs Louis’ hands and pulls him into a hug, resting his cheek against Louis’ hair as his deep voice rumbles out from within his chest, reverberating against Louis’, “what if I taught you? Just something simple. Because while I personally would be happy to cook for you fore--for the foreseeable future, I thought maybe you’d enjoy taking my class.”

 

Louis pulls back to look at Harry, tousling his curls with a light chuckle.

 

“Appreciate the thought babe but what makes you think it’s possible? I’m terrible at cooking. Like have you ever heard of exploding cupcakes?”

 

Harry shakes his head, face bunched with confusion.

 

“That’s because I invented them. Suffice to say, I spent hours cleaning the batter off the oven walls at the last flat I shared with Duncan.”

 

Harry bursts into loud laughter at that and then squeezes Louis’ cheeks, kissing him briefly.

 

“You’re adorable,” he coos, his green eyes all lit up with affection.

 

Louis rolls his eyes and tries to contain the pleased smile and the rush of colour climbing up his neck. Something tells him he’s not fooling anybody.

 

“You won’t find it so adorable when it’s _your_ oven walls that are dripping vanilla batter.”

 

Harry’s face is still fully animated, his mouth twitching and his eyes bent up with happiness.

 

“Good thing we won’t be using the oven then. Do you want to know why I think it’s possible? It’s possible because I’m going to be the best tutor you’ve ever had.”

 

“How’s that?”

 

Harry’s expression turns speculative.

 

“I call them…” he slowly tracks a hand down Louis’ front to the bulge in his jeans and then squeezes, eliciting a broken gasp from Louis’ parted lips, “incentives.”

 

Louis won’t be outdone. He walks his fingers up Harry’s chest to his shoulder, Harry watching him with a bemused, fond smile which tugs at the corners of his upturned lips.

 

“How about this Gordon Ramsay?” Louis stretches up on his toes and cups Harry’s jaw. He mouths along the opposite side of Harry’s neck to reach the spot just below his ear and then nibbles gently on his ear lobe, “I cook you a brilliant meal under your tutelage and…” Louis breaths hotly against his ear, “I get you.”

 

“You have me,” Harry rasps, his deep voice coloured with unbridled lust as his hands fly up to grip Louis’ waist with a kind of raw and possessive strength, “what do you mean?”

 

“I mean,” Louis smiles, touching back down onto his feet and looking up at Harry from beneath his lashes, “I want you to sleep with me tonight. I want you inside of me.”  


Harry’s eyes go comically wide, his fingers tensing around Louis’ hips as he studies Louis’ face for any sign of humour or reticence. He won’t find any.

 

“Louis,” he chokes out, “I can’t--“

 

“Listen to me,” Louis frames his face, studying it with his new found Harry-centric vision, “I know you don’t want to rush this with me. I know this is important to you, to do it right and to be cautious with me but…can I ask you something?”

 

Harry nods, the movement of his pupils still erratic.

 

“Do you want to fuck me?”

 

Harry blows a gust of warm air out of his mouth and then visibly collapses, leaning over Louis and knocking his forehead up against Louis’ so that their eyes are level. His thumbs skate across Louis bottom lip in opposite directions, moving up to his cheeks and then falling down the sides of his neck in a soft glide that pulls at the strings of Louis’ heart.

 

“I want to fuck you,” Harry admits with a nod and a soulful tone, the tendons in his throat straining with tension, “but I--“

 

“But nothing because that is what _I_ want and I know you said you can’t always give me what I want but if it’s what you want too then I don’t see the problem. What are you so afraid of Styles?”

 

Harry kisses the tension away and then presses his lips against the hollow in Louis’ neck.

 

“I’m afraid of not giving you all that you deserve. I’m afraid that the moment will pass without you feeling absolutely adored. It just…it has to be magical.”

 

“Harry,” Louis pulls Harry’s face from his neck and pleads with him, eyes intent, “life is not a fairy-tale and neither is sex but even if it were, do you not realise already that it’s not what you do for me that makes the most difference, it’s who you are. As cheesy as that sounds. It feels magical because you’re _you_ Harry and because you are exactly what I want. I won’t beg because I know you hate that but I’m telling you what I want, I’m _asking_ …because I can’t stop thinking about touching you, about you touching me. I won’t be able to until I get that chance and…” Louis’ smile turns coy as he lets his hand rove over his own bulge, “and if you can’t be with me tonight, I might have to take care of it myself.” Louis’ smirk turns into a full blow grin as Harry’s pupils dilate and his mouth falls open, “on your couch…” he continues and Harry looks about two seconds away from kissing him senseless as Louis finishes, “where you can hear me.”

 

Harry slams his lips down against Louis’ and Louis laughs into the kiss as Harry’s hands reach around and knead his bum, pulling their bodies into line. He lathes over Louis’ tongue with desperate, sucking kisses. Louis pushes him away eventually but only after spilling one too many gentle moans into his mouth.

 

“Not yet Harold,” he warns with a cautioning finger.

 

Harry nibbles at the tip and Louis has to work to ignore the thunderbolt of lust shooting through his groin, choosing to ruffle Harry’s curls and then pull away, turning to the ingredients on the counter.

 

“So what are we making?”

 

Harry ducks down beside him and grabs a cutting board from the white cupboard, placing it down on the bench in front of Louis and crowding in behind him.

 

“Chicken stir fry. Now, first you need to cut up the chicken and the vegetables? So we’ll do the chicken on this board first and then the vegetables on a separate one.”

 

“Okay…”

 

Harry fetches Louis a knife and then stands behind him as Louis starts slicing the chicken into thick cube like pieces. Harry chuckles and presses up against Louis’ back, kissing his neck gently as he settles his hands over Louis’ to halt his process.

 

“First tip darling?” he murmurs, breathing hotly over Louis’ ear. Louis wriggles back against him drawing out a slight shake in his voice and leading him to rub his cock teasingly up against Louis’ bum with tight, circular motions. “Cut the chicken into smalle—r pieces, it will _ah_ \--help it cook faster.”

 

Louis follows Harry’s instruction and continues cutting the chicken, grinding back against Harry whenever he deigns to tease Louis for his slow, deliberate cutting. After the chicken is done, Louis starts on the vegetables as Harry fills a pot with water, placing it on the stove in order to boil it for the noodles. When he comes back and finds Louis staring at the capsicum, holding it up to the light with a quizzical look and inspecting it from different angles, he laughs long and loud. He winds his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls Louis back against his body, nuzzling the hollow between Louis’ neck and shoulder. He plants open mouthed kisses along Louis’ neck as Louis squirms back against him and lets out an unintended and embarrassingly breathless giggle.  
  
“What the--“Louis’ high pitched giggle fills the kitchen as Harry nuzzles the spot he just kissed, “--hell Harold? Why are you-“another giggle, “attacking me?”

 

“Because cutie,” Harry squishes him around the waist and then pulls him off the floor as he spins them around, Louis still with a capsicum clutched in his hand, “I didn’t know how adorably inept you would be at this.”

 

Louis kicks until Harry releases him and then beats his chest.

 

“Smug bastard!”

 

Harry just grins and then manhandles him back into position, crowding his space once more and manoeuvring his hand to get him to drop the capsicum. Louis just sighs which makes Harry chuckle and rub an affectionate hand over his stomach.

 

“Okay, let me show you baby,” Harry instructs as he picks up the capsicum and the knife, “you need to get the ends off and then remove the yucky seed stuff from the inside.”

 

“Yucky seed stuff?” Louis turns his head a fraction to raise an eyebrow at him, “I wasn’t aware that my cooking tutor had the vocabulary of a five year old.”

 

Harry pouts a little but still kisses him, sucking at his lips a little before returning to the task. Once the vegetables and chicken are done, Harry puts a tiny splash of oil in a fry pan and then shows Louis how to cook the chicken until tender before adding the vegetables and sauce. When the water is boiled, Louis moves to add the whole packet of noodles but Harry lets out an indulgent laugh and shakes his head as he tells Louis that half the packet will be enough for both tonight and left overs. After the rice has been cooked and combined with the chicken and vegetables, they pour the stir fry into a casserole dish and Harry serves them both up a bowl.

 

“This is delicious,” he comments as he chews a mouthful, feet nudging Louis’ under the table, “well done Lou.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes as his foot brushes Harry’s calf.

 

“Yeah cause I really did so much.”

 

Harry chuckles but doesn’t let up.

 

“You were learning! The main thing is that we didn’t end up with exploding stir fry and you now know exactly what a capsicum is.”

 

“I knew what it was!” Louis gasps, offended, “I was just trying to work out how to cut it!”

 

Harry’s cheeks twitch as he squeezes the foot currently grazing his knee beneath the table.

 

“I believe you.”

 

“I strongly dislike you,” Louis contends, an arch and unimpressed look on his face as he takes in the food from his fork.

 

At the same time, his foot climbs from Harry’s foot to his thigh, rubbing against Harry’s inseam. He watches, amused and more than a little smug as Harry breathes out deeply through his nose and squirms around in his seat.

 

“Do you just?” Harry’s hand brushes over his foot, “I assume it’s only my thighs that you’re interested in then?”

 

Louis lets his pointed canines show as he grins, leaning across the table to wink at Harry.

 

“Guilty.”

 

Then he lowers himself in his seat and fully extends his leg so he can push the whole sole of his foot up against Harry’s crotch. He delights in the way Harry jumps, his throat bulging slightly as he chokes on his food and then is forced to take a long pull of his water just to make it go down.

 

“Problem Harold?”

 

Harry eyes him over his water with green eyed determination but Louis’ equally determined to weaken him. He always did have bendy toes. He flexes them now, curling them around the hard line of Harry’s cock in his trousers. Then he pushes his foot more firmly against Harry’s cock as he licks along the line of his own mouth and flutters his eyelashes at Harry’s distracted expression.

 

“Eat your dinner,” Harry orders him, even as his hips buck up a little under Louis’ foot, searching for more friction.

 

Louis’ smile stretches wide as he complies or at least pretends to. Before he can consume another mouthful, he pauses, fork mid-air and then cocks his head to the side.

 

“You know what?”

 

“What?” Harry asks, nostrils flaring.

 

“I just feel so…” Louis drops the fork and then pops the button on his trousers, pulling his zipper down with a loud hiss-like noise, “constrained.”  


Harry looks visibly strained himself, his facial muscles moving closing together with every clench of his expression in response to the rhythmic curl of Louis’ toes around his dick. He fails at keeping his hips stationery in his seat and instead bounces them up against Louis’ foot, lingering there with Louis’ foot pressed to his cock before he’s forced to drop back down again each time. Louis’ hand disappears beneath the table and then slides inside his open trousers to cover his own dick, now pulsating with interest.

 

“Ah,” Louis sighs, letting his eyelids flutter closed as his mouth quivers with amusement, “that’s better.”

 

“Uncle!” Harry cries out, clamping down on Louis’ foot to remove it as Louis’ eyes fly open, “I’m saying uncle!”

 

Louis eyes an unmistakably aroused and frustrated Harry with level headed amusement even though he can’t deny that the look of unrivalled lust in the green of Harry’s eyes is starting to thicken his cock. Still he plays it cool, folding his arms on the table before him and leaning across to stare directly into Harry’s twitchy expression.  
  
“I wasn’t aware we were having some form of duel?”

 

“How do you feel about reheated food?” Harry shoots back, answering Louis’ question with a harried one of his own.

 

Louis’ mouth swoops up at one side even as his stomach flutters with unexpected butterflies. Harry is going to sleep with him right here, right now. Harry is going to fuck him. _Shit_.

 

“I’m open to it. What did you have in mind?”

 

“Wait here,” Harry says with cautioning hands.

 

Louis nods and Harry jumps up from his chair, disappearing down the hallway. Over the course of five minutes, Louis hears both a small wounded cry of “ _shit_ ” and a quiet clicking noise and yet nothing to indicate what Harry might be doing. When Harry returns, he looks visibly stressed as he disappears with their bowls and then does a hurried and sloppy job of cleaning the kitchen. Louis is near bouncing in his seat by the time Harry is done but Harry looks like he’s about to go for a particularly strenuous job interview. Louis tugs him down by the edge of his shirt so he’s kneeling before Louis, wide eyed and panting.

 

“Are you nervous?” Louis asks him curiously.

 

Harry shakes his head vigorously, his skin flushed as his eyes dart from Louis’ lips, to his tie and then back up to his eyes.

 

“No I’m fine,” he maintains in an unusually high pitch.

 

Louis lets a crinkly eyed smile warm his face.

 

“Oh okay. Because I am.”

 

Harry blinks back at him, surprised and then guides his hand through Louis’ fringe, pushing it away from his eyes.

 

“You are?”

 

“Of course Harry. It’s _you_ …you’re…” Louis searches for something more romantic than “ _so very fuckable_ ” but then he figures that Harry should be happy to hear it either way, “fucking fit and I actually _like_ you. I _really_ like you and I haven’t slept with anyone else in three years and I’m terrified. But Haz…I want this and I trust you. If today’s preview is anything to go by, I’m in for one hell of an experience.”

 

Harry looks awed. He pulls Louis to his feet and then kisses him languidly for a few minutes, opening Louis’ mouth wider each time and guiding his palm over his waist, massaging the softness into a more relaxed state.

 

“You’re ready?” Harry finally whispers with rose tinted skin and hearts in his eyes.

 

Louis melts against him.

 

“What are you waiting for?” He sings in a breathy whisper, “Love me like you do. Lo-lo-love me like you do.”

 

Harry’s grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as he sweeps Louis up into his arms, bridal style and then carries him through the kitchen to the hall beyond.

 

“You had to do that, didn’t you?” Louis sighs with an exasperated shake of his head.

 

Harry looks down at him with a glow emanating from every inch of his pale, gossamer soft skin.

 

“I’ve wanted to sweep you off your feet since the first moment I saw you. It just so happens that now I’m allowed to do it for real. ”

 

Louis buries his head in Harry’s chest just to hide the overwhelmed tears welling up in his eyes and the huge, wobbly smile threatening to break through as his heart throbs tellingly in his chest. He is _not_ a sap. Harry Styles has not turned him into a sap. Louis raises his head just as they enter the bedroom and gasps loudly when Harry lets him down onto his feet. His knees go weak and then wobbly as he turns in slow circles, surveying what has to be twenty or so candles creating a subtle, and endearingly romantic atmosphere. They colour the room in a stunning, soft yellow light that flickers every few moments and the room is filled with an intoxicating but subtle berry scent that smells an awful lot like Harry’s curls.

 

“Harry, this is beautiful,” Louis wheels in his direction, yanking him close and kissing him eagerly, “I can’t believe you did this for me…and so quickly! You were in here for like five minutes.”

 

Harry holds up his thumb.

 

“Burnt myself,” he mumbles, blushing slightly.

 

That explains the muffled cry of “shit.” Louis smiles with crinkly eyes, completely endeared by Harry’s clumsiness as he brings Harry’s thumb to his lips and kisses it three times with a loud, dramatic, “mwah.” Harry’s mouth notches higher as he puts on a look of confusion.

 

“Louis, this is getting weird now.”

 

Louis beats his chest but Harry just grips his biceps, walking them back toward the bed as he turns them around so he can pull Louis down on top of him. He collapses back against the covers with a soft thump and they both stare at each other for a minute or so, the gravity of the moment holding their bodies taut. While their dicks might be chomping at the bit to just get on with it, their hearts are held captive by the look in each other’s eyes. Louis is enchanted. Completely enraptured. He’s been delirious with happiness once or twice in his life but never like this. Deep down he always felt and always knew, in fact, that his happiness would cave to external pressure. Not this time

 

This is different. The candlelight falls in the shallows of Harry’s face, illuminating those perfect dimples and the cleft of his chin. It casts a radiant glow over his snowy white skin and his apple green eyes which look like emerald toned rivers rushing with the current. His supple, pink lips open upon the brush of Louis’ fingers and he’s far too gorgeous, unattainably so. Yet here he is, pliant beneath Louis’ body as Louis rolls over on top of him and watching Louis like _he’s_ the one with all the power. It’s incredible. This time Louis’ happiness doesn’t feel like ice about to crack beneath his weight or a humid day building towards an inevitably catastrophic storm. This time it feels like someone painting his insides with calm and tattooing his skin over and over again with a single phrase. _You’re worth it. You’re worth it_.

 

Louis presses his body more firmly against Harry’s and splits his legs, rutting gently against him while he opens Harry’s mouth with his own. Harry sighs and rocks his hips into Louis’, emulating his rhythm. He twists the ends of Louis’ hair around his fingers and tugs gently while his tongue does wicked things to Louis’. When Louis pulls away, they’re both gasping for breath, their gazes intimately interlocked. Louis shucks off his jacket and then rids himself of the tie. Before he can do anything more though, Harry stills his hands with his own.

 

“Please can I um…” Harry blushes and then runs his hands across Louis’ shoulder blades in a gentle caress, “can I do it myself? Like…undress you?”

 

Louis nods, a little lost for words. It’s just so lovely. Harry is so lovely.

 

“Can I keep you?” Louis asks with a thoughtful tilt of his head and a dazed tone as Harry reverses their positions again, straddling Louis while he begins to work on his buttons.

 

Harry throws his head back and laughs and then leans down to kiss him.

 

“You most certainly can.”

 

Louis laughs with him but his humour drains quickly away as Harry parts his shirt and then rubs teasingly over his nipples with his thumbs. He eyes Louis’ torso with mounting intensity and then drags his teeth over his bottom lip, exhaling loudly from his nose. He places his open palm against Louis’ chest, holding Louis’ eyes as he feels the jump of Louis’ pulse against his fingers. Then he trails his hand down over Louis’ navel with a look of intense concentration between his eyes as if he might just be memorising the shape of Louis’ body beneath his hand.

 

“Lift up for me sweetheart,” he says, splaying his fingers out over Louis’ stomach.

 

Louis does just that and Harry pulls the shirt from his shoulders, folding it before gently placing it on the floor. Louis rolls his eyes at him, a touch too fond and Harry notices. He grabs Louis’ chin, smiling into his eyes as he leans in and captures Louis’ mouth, massaging Louis’ tongue and twisting his head a little to work his own in at a better angle. It makes Louis buck up against his weight. Harry chuckles as he draws away, bending his body in half while he leans down and sucks on Louis’ shoulder, kissing his way down to Louis’ nipple and then looking up at Louis with a sly smile. He reaches over and rolls Louis’ right nipple between his fingers as he takes the left in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue and lathing desperately over it with his tongue. Louis keens and arches up, searching. Harry braces his hands on Louis’ thighs as Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s back, one ankle hooked over the other. Harry sucks on the other nipple, leaning back proudly to observe the way it shimmers with wetness before taking it back into his mouth, sliding it over the cut of his teeth as he nibbles gently. It drives Louis wild and Harry has to grip his waist just to stop him from jerking around. Louis’ cock presses painfully tight against his trousers. Still, despite his lack of mercy, Harry seems to delight in the way Louis’ bare waist shivers beneath the press of his fingers. He squeezes it for a moment and then brushes his fingers over the stiff peaks of Louis’ nipples with a satisfied smile.

 

“I need you to, _ah_ ,” Louis groans as Harry sucks a kiss to the sensitive, soft spot just above his belly button, humming around a mouthful of Louis’ warm skin, “take off my trousers. Please.”

 

Louis hopes that his request doesn’t constitute begging. However Harry neglects to answer, instead choosing to lathe his tongue across the expanse of Louis’ stomach in hot wet stripes while Louis shivers beneath him, wanting more but afraid to lose himself completely. He buries his hands in Harry’s hair and Harry seems to take this as encouragement to tease him more, transferring his mouth to one of Louis’ V lines and nibbling his way down to the waist line of Louis’ trousers. Harry’s hands reach under him, sliding down the back of his jeans to firmly grip his arse. He holds Louis’ bum tightly as he peppers Louis’ whole stomach with frantic kisses and then licks along Louis’ other V line, just kneading his arse cheeks beneath his hands as he does. Louis moans loudly in response and tugs on Harry’s hair to bring his head up. Harry’s green eyes look muddied and hazy, like he actually might have just forgotten where he was and he’s so damn beautiful that Louis’ throat hurts just to be held within the focus of that enticingly earnest gaze.

 

“Trousers, please Harry.”

 

“Oh,” Harry looks genuinely confused and then concerned as he slides back up Louis’ body to take Louis’ face in his hands, “I’m so sorry love, I didn’t realise.”

 

Louis chuckles, so bloody touched by the concern in Harry’s eyes that his laugh comes out sounding awfully wet and his eyes feel thick with emotion. How did he get so lucky as to wind up in bed with someone like Harry? He’s never felt so wanton and desperate with longing and yet somehow still completely in control and certain of his safety.

 

“Don’t be sorry babe. Just free me.”

 

Harry laughs against his mouth and they share a lingering kiss. He shapes his hands around Louis’ hips as he drags his nose along Louis’ neckline, gently kissing Louis’ collar bones and then inhaling deeply. He continues his descent down Louis’ body, skimming his nose along Louis chest and then moving further down across the central column of his bare stomach. Louis winces, thinking that a whole day’s worth of activities can’t have left him with a very clean scent.

 

“I probably smell like--“

 

“Like soap,” Harry finishes for him, warm, melted green eyes meeting Louis’ as he works over the top button of Louis’ trousers, “…and you. Sweet and spicy at the same time. I love the way you smell Lou.”

 

Louis feels like someone is playing kick to kick with his heart and he can feel it rolling around in his chest, unable to resist the pull and stretch of his emotions.

 

“I love the way you smell too,” he says quietly, “always have.”

 

Harry smiles gently at that. As he finishes with Louis’ zip, he slides Louis’ jeans down over his hips to the midpoint of his thighs and Louis squirms on the bed to assist him as Harry tugs more insistently. They both heave and sweat until the tight denim breaks away from his skin and slides off Louis’ feet with a satisfyingly fluid motion. Harry dumps the wretchedly tight denim on the floor without so much as turning them the right way out with a grumpy but endearing frown marring his expression. Louis giggles as Harry collapses against him, head nudging Louis’ belly button. Louis combs through his curls and Harry hums, rubbing his head up against Louis’ stomach. The way that Harry’s soft curls feel rubbing up against his abdomen relaxes Louis almost as much as his touch does Harry.

 

“You okay hipster?” he asks with rising humour as he massages Harry’s scalp.

 

Harry makes a cute ‘hmph’ sound and then snuffles up against him, turning his head to kiss Louis’ stomach, open mouthed. Then he slumps back against him once more.

 

“Never had to undress a guy with such tight trousers before,” Harry moans, despairing, “how tiny are you?”

 

Louis laughs and then bends over Harry to pat his tiny but firm bum pressing raunchily up against his jeans.

 

“You’re one to talk Styles.”

 

Harry wriggles up his body and then looks down at him with a knowing smile that Louis doesn’t like one bit.

 

“They’re a size too small, aren’t they? Whose idea was that? Niall’s? I bet. You’re both conspiring to kill me obviously.”

 

“How do you know I saw them?” Louis blanches, “And it was Liam’s actually.”

 

Harry chuckles and presses his lips to Louis’.

 

“C’mon Lou, you always look gorgeous but you turn up to our first date with an effortless trifecta, looking extremely sophisticated…that indicates Zayn, like my fantasy come true, hence, Niall and finally looking just like… _you_ , hence Liam. I wasn’t born yesterday Tomlinson.”

 

Louis blushes and turns his face into the pillow but Harry just turns it right back, sucking at his lips until Louis opens up and gives him access. Louis’ cock is still thick and full in his pants as Harry’s hands glide along his bare thighs, moving slowly back and forth and driving him crazy in the process.

 

“I think it’s cute,” Harry breathes against his mouth, “that you wanted to look good for our first date. As if I’d change my mind anyway but if it helps, you absolutely succeeded in completely blowing my mind. Took all of my breath away when you walked into the kitchen looking like that. Plus your arse really does look fantastic in those jeans. I’ve decided they’re worth the effort involved in getting them off.”

 

“It helps,” Louis admits with a half bitten smile, brushing his mouth against Harry’s as he grinds up against him, “now I think it’s about time you disrobed Harold.”

 

Harry chuckles but complies, holding his hands up in the air as Louis pulls the blue shirt from his head and tosses it half across the room, immediately reaching up to cup his jaw and kiss him deeply as his hands work over Harry’s broad shoulders and the hard lines of his chest. Louis pushes Harry down beside him and straddles him all over again, needing the hard press of Harry’s body beneath him.

 

“So sexy,” he breathes, gripping Harry’s sides as he thumbs over Harry’s nipples and kisses him some more. He rubs his bum over Harry’s denim clad crotch and Harry grips his hips, pulling him forward and encouraging him to grind down harder…faster, “just want you inside.”

 

Harry moans at this and starts to rock up against Louis’ bum, his tight bulge sliding along the cleft of Louis’ arse and making him grind back down against it, his breaths frenzied and too quick. Louis reaches to pull down his panties at the same time that Harry’s fingers slide beneath his own jeans and they both laugh, rolling off opposite sides of the bed. They maintain eye contact as Louis loses the panties and Harry loses his jeans _and_ his pants in one go. Louis’ never seen someone undress themselves as quickly or as efficiently as Harry does in this moment and he loves that there’s a tinge of desperation in the way Harry’s fingers tug frantically at his pants. Louis gasps at the feeling of cool air on his warm cock and he can’t help but get a hand around himself, moaning quietly as he pushes inside the tight circle created by his own fist. Harry’s gaze abruptly drops from Louis’ eyes to his cock and then he, coincidentally or not, manages to trip over his own feet.

 

“Shit Lou,” he swears, his impressive prick standing to attention as his eyes rove hungrily over Louis’ groin, “I can’t believe you. I’m--I need you.”

 

Louis lies down on the bed, stroking himself more slowly now as Harry watches him from beside the bed, wrapping a shaking hand around his own dick. Harry groans and his eyes flutter closed with relief. It’s a beautiful sight, the bright and shiny pink tip of Harry’s dick, hard and beading with pre come as it slips in and out of his closed fist. He crawls onto the bed between Louis’ legs and then let’s go of himself in order to spread his fingers over Louis’ taut thighs. Louis’ breath hitches when Harry swallows him whole, sinking down so low that his nose skims against Louis’ stomach and his cock nudges the back of Harry’s throat. A needy, desperate whine fills the air as Louis’ hips jerk upward of their own accord and his eyes tear with pleasure but still he manages to push Harry away.

 

“Is it--“

 

“I know what it feels like,” Louis reminds him with a shaky voice, “I don’t want to wreck your throat Harry.”

 

“No,” Harry smiles as he grabs hold of Louis’ cock, fisting it tightly as he talks and making Louis’ legs twist and kick out with desperate longing, “it’s okay. As long as you don’t fuck my mouth. I want to make you feel good. I don’t need the same, I don’t want the same but I…I want to. I like it.”

 

“Okay,” Louis says on a reckless moan as Harry’s thumb brushes over the head of his leaking cock, “just touch me.”  
  
Harry complies swallowing him whole again, his hands pressing gently on Louis’ hips to keep him still as his tongue circles around the head and then presses against his slit, drawing out the wetness. Louis’ frenzied gasps fill the air and he clenches his hands around his own hair, trying to control himself and keep from spilling against Harry’s wicked tongue. Harry starts to hollow his cheeks, his warm mouth creating the perfect moist, suctioning pressure that Louis desires and at the same time, only making him crave something deeper. Harry draws back slowly, circling his tongue around Louis’ length and then sinking back down again too quickly, causing Louis’ stomach muscles to bunch and then tighten beyond measure as Harry lathes his tongue over the underside of Louis’ dick. He holds Louis’ eyes as Louis’ breaths hitch continuously, his dick throbbing with the intense pleasure that fills his veins. Harry repeats the movement again and again and the sight of his own cock disappearing in and out of Harry’s flushed lips is enough to make Louis’ thighs tremble and his back arch. When Harry pulls off for good, Louis whines, his eyes falling shut with defeat as he runs a trembling hand up the front of his body, just trying to ground himself in reality. He shivers as his own thumbs grazes his nipple and this elicits a loud, wicked moan from Harry. Louis opens his eyes just in time to see Harry throw his head back, his chocolate curls tickling the angular arch of his long neck as he thrusts up into his open fist with fervour.

 

“Harry, come here love.”

 

Harry walks over Louis’ body on his knees until his cock brushes up against Louis’ chin. He doesn’t ram his cock down Louis’ throat as Duncan would have nor even press it up against Louis’ lips. He just waits for Louis’ touch and when Louis wraps a tight fist around him, a long breath shudders out of him and he slumps over, leaning down to kiss Louis thoroughly. He strokes Louis’ face, tucking Louis’ hair behind his ears and looking down at him with such tenderness in his eyes in spite of his growing arousal. That settles it for Louis. He takes only Harry’s head between his lips but he sucks with a vengeance, reaching down to fondle Harry’s balls as Harry moans above him. When he pulls back, Harry’s head is shiny and flushed and he looks almost as wrecked as Louis feels.

 

“Lube? Condoms?” Louis pants.

 

Harry’s fingers slide through his hair as he bends over him and kisses him with soft, teasing brushing of his lips and gentle swipes of his tongue.

 

“In the drawer.”

 

Louis reaches inside and grabs the two items without looking. When he reads the size on the box, his cock leaks a little more but then he laughs at the label on the lube.

 

“Banana, Harold…really?”

 

“It tastes good,” Harry says with an unapologetic grin, taking both items from Louis, “bit of banana Lube in the arse, what could go wrong?”

 

Louis shakes his head, a gentle laugh spilling from his lips as his eyes crinkle and he wonders why he never remembers feeling this fond of Duncan. Were they ever able to laugh at moments like these? That’s what Louis has always wanted. Someone who can get him hot and keep him there but also someone who will take care of him and make him laugh when things get a little too intense. Harry is all three… the trifecta.

 

“You did not just say that,” Louis says, bursting with fondness, “I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with such a dork.”

 

“A dork with really long fingers.”

 

Harry squirts some lube onto his fingers and then a single digit is pressing at Louis’ entrance, making him tense up slightly, his breath uneven.

 

“Lou, you okay?” Harry asks with concern.

 

Louis can’t help but think about his experiences with Duncan and all the times that Duncan would slam his fingers inside, thrusting deep without so much as a warning. Louis would be left biting back tears and humming The Fray under his breath just to calm himself as he prepared for the next onslaught.

 

“Yeah,” Louis nods and he knows in that moment that he is. This is Harry, not the ex who beat him to a pulp and Louis knows that Harry will take care of him and make him feel good because he always has, “what are you waiting for love?”

 

Harry takes that as permission but he must have sensed the problem at large because he goes slowly, holding Louis’ eyes as he slowly screws his cool, slippery finger inside. Louis winces but doesn’t complain and Harry’s other hand massages his hip, a thumb brushing over his hip bone as he raises his eyebrows in question.

 

“Another,” Louis agrees.

 

Harry nods and then inserts another finger alongside the first. He twists them, pushing further and then scissors them open and closed to loosen Louis’ walls around the intrusion. It’s a tight fit and Louis can see the intense concentration in the furrow between Harry’s eyes as he works at opening Louis up without hurting him.

 

“Stay still,” Harry orders him in a hushed tone.

 

Louis does exactly that as Harry’s fingers reach deeper. Only, Louis can’t stay still because it’s then that both of Harry’s fingers brush over that sensitive spot inside him and his hips jerk up, pulling Harry’s fingers in deeper as his walls tighten around them.

 

“Uh,” Louis grunts as Harry rubs his fingers against Louis’ prostate, kneading it firmly and making Louis tremble with want, “so good. _More_.”

 

Louis is expecting another finger but instead he feels Harry’s lips against the inside of his thighs as he mouths along the tender skin and then firmly presses his free hand to Louis’ hips to keep them from bucking up and hitting his face. Harry’s fingers twist inside him, pushing and prodding against his prostate with insistent pressure while Louis’ cock leaks continuously against his stomach as he lets out a stream of filthy moans. Then Harry presses his lips against Louis’ rim and Louis’ whole body goes taut with desire.

 

“ _Harry_. _“_

 

Harry slides his tongue inside, lathing wetness over Louis’ walls as his fingers continue their persistent rubbing. Louis’ breaths turn into wild gasps. He clutches the sheets in his hands as his hips roll just slightly beneath Harry’s cautioning hand, forcing his tongue deeper and making Louis’ eyes roll. Harry pulls his tongue out, licking all around Louis’ rim before thrusting back inside hard and making Louis keen and arch his back. Then the lovely wetness is gone and Harry pulls his fingers away too, making Louis groan with despair and buck his hips up expectantly, despising how empty he suddenly feels.

 

“You’re so tight Lou,” Harry whispers, his thumbs brushing tenderly over Louis’ entrance, “I need to fuck you. I need to feel you all around me sweetheart.”

 

“Yes,” Louis practically sobs, his whole body thrumming with rising tension as his baby blues reflect the same need shining out of Harry’s, “want you Haz.”

 

Harry’s hand ghosts over his cock quickly and then he pulls a condom from the box, sliding it over his length, all as Louis watches with bated breath. Harry’s hands squeeze his knees as he leans over Louis and kisses him soulfully.

 

“Pull your legs up and spread them a little wider,” Harry instructs, kissing him again, “going to make you feel good baby, I promise.”  


“I know,” Louis says with a quiet, shining smile.

 

He does as Harry asks, drawing his legs up and then parting them so Harry can sink comfortably between. Harry lines up his cock with Louis’ entrance and then looks up at Louis with such heat and tenderness in his eyes that Louis already feels breathless and full. Louis’ eyes trail down Harry’s ripped body to his new tattoo and he feels wildly possessive and undeniably satisfied about the fact that Harry’s body bears his last name. He would never assert the kind of control or power over Harry that Duncan had over him but seeing those letters printed on Harry’s hip only makes his feelings for Harry that much stronger.

 

“I’m so happy I get to do this with you Louis,” Harry says, “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

 

Louis sucks in a breath at the sweet revelation and then loses that breath in a loud gust as Harry sinks into him, his arms strong and sturdy around him, holding his weight off Louis’ body. Louis flinches slightly as Harry bottoms out, his hard length difficult to adjust to even with all that glorious preparation. Harry uses one hand to stroke Louis’ hair as he leans down for a kiss, comforting Louis even while his own face clenches at the sudden and overwhelming tightness and the growing urge he has to move.

 

“Move Harry,” Louis whispers against his mouth, sucking on his lower lip and then biting at the top one, “I’m ready for you.”

 

Harry still looks hesitant but he draws back slowly and then thrusts deeper again, his breath fanning out across Louis’ lips as his pupils dilate beyond measure. Then he splits his legs over Louis’, changing the angle on his next stroke down and nudging Louis’ prostate. It draws a gargled moan from Louis’ throat and Harry kisses him urgently, knowing he’s found it. Harry begins to thrust more quickly, the bed squeaking slightly as his thighs press firmly against Louis’ and he rocks his hips with purpose. Louis moans with each gentle prod of his prostate, his cock leaking pre come all over his stomach but it’s simply not enough. He _needs_ Harry…all of Harry.

 

“Hold onto the headboard,” Louis instructs him with a breathless pant, his body trembling with sensory overload as Harry’s cock rests idle inside him, pressed right up against his special spot, “hold on and…and _fuck_ me.”

 

Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice and Louis gets a kick out of the way his arms look stretched taut above him, bulging with the pressure of holding on, muscled and deliciously firm. Harry’s weight bears down on Louis’ hips as he readjusts and then resumes a more frenzied pace, looking down at Louis with the kind of reverence Louis has always dreamed of but never once witnessed in sex. It’s something more than lust. Something like wonder mingling with deep attraction. It fills Louis’ heart with so much affection but he can only whine about the fact that he can’t reach Harry’s lips like this.

 

“You’re so tight,” Harry moans, his green eyes rolling slightly as he rocks his hips against Louis ass, thrusting deeper and pushing up against Louis’ tight walls, completely filling the cramped space with his thickness, “It’s like, _ah_ , you’re hugging me with your arse.”

 

Louis laughs at this but it quickly morphs into a stuttered moan as Harry rocks into him deep. Louis wants to kiss Harry. He just wants to be as close as he can and this simply isn’t enough.

 

“Haz,” he gasps, “cradle my head.”

                                                                                     

Harry takes his hands from the headboard and does just that. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, which not only brings their torsos into glorious full contact but also encourages Harry to sink deeper inside so that his cock is jammed up inside Louis, pressed fully against his prostate.

 

“Christ,” Harry whispers, massaging Louis’ temples as he gyrates his hips, grinding against Louis’ walls and making them pulse around him, “you feel so good like this.”

 

“Fuck,” Louis swears as Harry starts to flex his hips, brushing his dick up against Louis’ prostate with every movement, “oh _fuck_.”

 

There’s a dual chorus of moans that fill the air as Louis squeezes his thighs around Harry’s waist and then tugs Harry’s head down, sucking at his lips and tangling their tongues together in a wet snog as their lower bodies rise and fall in a synchronised rhythm. It’s seemingly too much sensation for Harry because he buries his head in Louis’s neck, panting heavily and rocking into Louis with these precise and perfect movements that leave Louis’ cock jerking against his stomach as it brushes up against Harry’s torso, just aching to be touched.

 

“Going to come Lou,” Harry shouts suddenly, one hand squeezing the side of his waist as the other slides through his hair, “I’m- _uh_ , you keep squeezing me.”

 

Louis might be doing it on purpose now but he can feel his approaching orgasm too and he’s not willing to go first. Harry grinds his hips in a figure eight motion as he pulls back just enough to look into Louis’ eyes, his face twitching like it had the other night against the wall, his green eyes wide with awe. This time Harry shakes and shudders like he’s coming undone completely, his mouth going slack as his hips move slower, his cock rubbing over Louis’ prostate and making him shiver along with Harry.

 

“Oh jesus _fuck_ ,” Harry swears, “so good baby.”

 

He moans low and long, his body collapsing over Louis’ chest in defeat. His hips lift up and down at the pace of a heartbeat, rolling against Louis as he humps himself inside Louis’ arse, losing every ounce of composure when he spills into the condom with a choked off groan. Louis is shaking with want and he sobs his complaint as Harry pulls out. Yet even with his eyes practically slitted shut with a post-orgasm haze, Harry looks after him. His hand closes around the base of Louis’ aching cock while his lips purse around the head, sucking Louis down deep until Louis is convulsing beneath him. Louis’ brain short circuits when Harry’s tongue presses against the throbbing vein in his cock, the wetness from Harry’s mouth dripping over his length. Harry licks over the head and then draws back completely, his hand still working Louis’ throbbing cock with firm twists that spark heat in Louis’ stomach.

 

“Come in my mouth darling.”

 

Louis starts to spill before Harry can even replace his fist with his mouth but Harry catches the tail end of his orgasm, sucking him until Louis is sensitive and weak beneath him. Harry pulls back with a satisfied, sleepy smile and Louis has never been so fucking gone for anybody. He pulls Harry down into a deep kiss, sucking and biting at Harry’s lips long after the sweat between their bodies has dried and Louis starts to shiver from the lack of warmth. Louis was somehow so out of it, he didn’t even realise Harry had divested himself of the dirty condom but now he’s glad…glad of the fact that there’s no cleaning up to do and that he can happily wrap his arms around his boy... _wait_ , _his boy_? _Fuck._ Harry picks Louis up  in his arms and then tucks him in under the covers, sliding in beside him and spooning him from behind. His larger frame makes Louis feel so small and for once, it just feels nice. Harry kisses up his shoulder to his neck and Louis looks back at him with warmth in his eyes and deep contentment spilling out the sides of his lazy smile.

 

“Hey angel,” Harry murmurs, “do you know the reasons why, we look up to the sky?”

 

“What’s that?” Louis asks with bemusement.

 

“A poem I read once,” Harry’s thumb traces the corner of Louis’ eye, his gaze moving over Louis’ face like it holds the answer to a long awaited problem, “ _Hey angel, do you know the reasons why, we look up to the sky? Because heaven and earth meet, where the sun turns raindrops shy. Hey angel, do you know the reasons why, I look to you instead? You were heaven and earth at once, where you lay, soft upon my bed_.”

 

Louis’ so tired, post orgasm that he can barely keep his eyes open but the beautiful words circle his head and he knows that they’ll be imprinted there long after he wakes. Gentle lips press against his forehead as his eyes fall shut and Louis doesn’t have the energy to form the words with his lips so he thinks them instead. He responds with his heart and he hopes Harry senses it, even without him saying it. _If I am heaven and earth to you, it is only because you moved heaven and earth for me. I might see it in my own eyes but only because you illuminated them for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing their first time together was really scary for me because I feel like smut can be one of my biggest challenges (there's no extensive "how to write gay sex" guide) but hopefully it worked out okay :)   
> Yes I made up some lyrics/poetry around one of the lines of "hey angel" so for anyone reading this after it's released properly, I'm well aware I am a lot less skilled at writing songs/lyrical stuff than Harry Styles :P


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluff + Shameful angst  
> (Just in case you forgot, Louis has a tattoo of the date he and Duncan met on his wrist.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a month, I’m SO sorry! But I’m on holidays now so hopefully the rest of it will be delivered much more quickly. Thank you for waiting xxx
> 
> 1\. What’s your favourite song on MITAM? I have a couple of faves but my current equal favourites are wolves and if I could fly.  
> 2\. There’s three references (from two songs) to MITAM hehe. And one that’s sort of from MITAM but sort of not. Tell me if you find them xx  
> 3\. I don’t condone unsafe sexual practices or blasé’ attitudes towards it and the way Louis “checks” is completely inaccurate. Like obviously that wouldn’t guarantee anything. Stay safe kiddos. This is just fiction.  
> 4\. Follow me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lovehoperomance  
>  I do this thing now where I post hypothetical larry conversations. Good to read when I’m being shit at updating :P   
> 5\. I forget how long blood test results take but this is probably inaccurate. And I don’t think they would text them. Ah well (said in strong Aussie accent) hahah

Harry wakes with the most incredible scent filling his nose and with something soft and silky fanning over his lips. He cracks his eyes open and hums with pleasure. Louis’ hair spills half across his pillow and half across his face and Harry couldn’t be more satisfied. A smug, cheeky smile pulls at his lips despite the fact that there’s no one here to see this. Not that he’d want them to really. It’s just that Louis is the cutest, fittest guy he’s ever had in his bed like this and he never dreamed that they’d end up here when they first met. Harry plants a kiss in his sweet smelling hair after patting it back into place and then pulls Louis against him more securely, flattening his hand out against Louis’ chest and pressing the fronts of his knees into the backs of Louis’. He nuzzles the back of Louis’ neck and then opens his mouth along the curve of his shoulder while Louis pushes back against his morning wood. Harry’s not sure if Louis’ awake but his hand drifts lower anyway, framing the curve of Louis’ stomach. He savours the way in which that perfect pocket of skin pushes up against his hand with every breath that falls from Louis’ pillowy lips. Harry wants more.

 

He gently rolls Louis over onto his back and finds softly closed eyelids and delicate eyelashes sweeping his cheeks as Louis’ hands roam across his own chest, tempting Harry with how lovely and dainty they look against his skin. He encloses Louis’ wrists in his hands and rubs across the stems of his veins, tracing the lines down through to Louis’ palms and all the way up to the points of his fingers. It makes Louis twitch in his sleep, a cute little intake of breath escaping his parted lips when Harry brings those small palms up to his lips and mouths at the centre of each. Harry can’t help but to trace the apples of Louis’ small cheeks as he leans over him, his legs curled up either side of Louis’ thighs. He plants soft kisses on Louis’ sweet belly, peppering the warm skin with precious touches of his lips, each one a gentle promise that he will always be there to take care of him even when Louis’ too stubborn to admit that he needs it.

 

When Harry accidentally falls from his position perched over Louis and lands in his lap, Louis wakes with a start. His eyes go wide and a wounded cry escapes his parted mouth as he shoots bolt upright and instinctively latches on to Harry’s hips with his hands. Harry leans down and kisses the startled look of surprise right off his lips.

 

“Morning,” he murmurs, tracing Louis’ bottom lip with a finger, “sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

 

“What were you doing?” Louis asks him, leaning his head back against the headboard as he directs his eyes up at Harry; eyes that are enchantingly soft with traces of lingering dreams.

 

Harry had thought Louis was stunning in sleep. Gazing at Louis now with his head tilted back, exposing the succulent arch of his butterscotch toned neck and with those hazy blue eyes staring curiously up into Harry’s own, he realises that the picture was entirely incomplete. There is nothing more breathtaking than this.

 

“Kissing your stomach,” Harry reveals with a sheepish-like grin and only a slight blush stealing over his cheeks.

 

Louis’ hands stretch wider across his hips, squeezing him as his thumbs make indents in Harry’s sides. It’s heaven. As is the way that Louis tugs him down by the neck, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth.  Harry’s hands reach up to cradle his jaw with a gentle kind of possessiveness and his tongue arches forward, delving deep into Louis’ mouth. He retracts it slowly and then plants a whisper soft kiss on Louis’ jaw as he murmurs against his skin.

 

“Thought you didn’t do this.”

 

“Kiss you?” Louis raises an eyebrow and tugs on Harry’s bottom lip with his mouth, trying to get him to open up by gently nibbling on his bottom lip, “I kind of haven’t _stopped_ kissing you since the other night. Did you bump your head love?”

 

Louis reaches up and traces Harry’s temple with a twitching, closed mouth smile that barely contains his fondness. Harry eats it up, catching Louis’ fingers with his own and pressing his lips to them.

 

“No,” he sighs as an equally fond smile spreads over his lips and his morning voice forms a deep rumble in his chest, “I was referring to your dramatic minty kiss from yesterday morning. What happened to your whole strict stance on morning breath?”

 

Louis’ eyelashes flutter down as he directs his gaze to Harry’s hard, naked cock brushing up against his stomach, flushed and pink. He wraps a hand around it and Harry sighs with relief, unable to help himself from rocking up into Louis’ innocent touch. Louis’ smile only widens, its breadth forcing his cheeks to puff out slightly. Harry just barely resists the urge to coo.

 

“The fit guy that I was just dreaming about fell into my lap.”

 

Louis flicks his gaze back up to Harry at the same time that he tugs on Harry’s dick, sliding the foreskin up over the head and then pulling it back down with a firm, decisive grip. Harry lets out a stuttered groan and reaches back to grip Louis’ thighs, steading himself as Louis continues his glorious torture.

 

“What were you dreaming about?” Harry asks, breathing heavily.

 

Louis doesn’t answer but his eyes are warm and affectionate as he scrubs his thumb across the smoothness of Harry’s jaw and pulls him into a more heated kiss. While Louis’ tongue slides around Harry’s own, coaxing a needy moan from his lips, Louis increases the frenzied rhythm of his fist around Harry’s dick. Harry falls drunkenly forward and Louis’ free hand finds its way to his lower back, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Harry lifts himself back up with considerable effort, needing to look at Louis as he drowns in that insistent touch. Louis looks calm and dreamlike as he twists his wrist, tugging purposefully at Harry’s cock. Harry lets out a stream of meaningless jumble, his chest heaving with the weight of his breath.

 

“Fuck Lou, so good,” he sighs, rocking up into Louis’ grip and shuddering when Louis responds with a slight squeeze of his fist, “I love this baby.”

 

“I know,” Louis’ eyes twinkle and then he pushes his hips up, thrusting his semi up between the swell of Harry’s arse cheeks, “so do I.”

 

Harry laughs, pleasantly surprised and then happily gives up rocking up into Louis’ fist to grind down against him instead. Louis chokes on air and then squeezes Harry’s hips, flexing his own to force his cock higher up against the centre of Harry’s cheeks. Harry continues to bear down against him so that every time Louis’ cock reaches the cleft at the top of his arse, it becomes trapped in between. It draws a high pitched moan from Louis’ supple, pink mouth, his lips forming a small ‘o’ every time. It’s double the sensation for Harry, rocking back against Louis with his head thrown back in ecstasy while Louis’ fist pulls at him just right.

 

“Tell me,” Harry pants, making eye contact as the head of Louis’ dick nudges the top of his arse, “tell me about your dream.”

 

Louis whimpers when Harry rocks down against him and his tanned eyelids flutter closed for a moment. He looks pretty and oh, so wrecked as he persists in jerking Harry’s dick and making Harry flush pleasantly pink all over in the process. His touch raises the hairs on Harry’s body and tightens his every muscle with delicious tension.

 

“I was at the bar--“ Louis’ voice cuts off as he whines low in his throat, “--except it was three years ago,” he shudders, “and I was supposed to meet Duncan. As in, it was the day I met him.”

 

The thought of Duncan is really not helping Harry’s boner, not to mention the fact that Louis was _dreaming_ about the guy. _Fuck_. If Harry was in his right mind right now, maybe he’d be more understanding but he’s about thirty seconds away from coming into Louis’ hand and this is not what he expected to hear. Except---except Louis said the dream was about _him_ so…

 

“But you came in instead,” Louis’ hand reaches up to trace the curve of Harry’s face and stroke the curls tickling his ear, “and you asked me to run away with you before he got there. Only in the dream I didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know you either. But I _felt_ like I knew you and you certainly knew me.”

 

“Of course I did,” Harry says with hushed breath. He kisses Louis with feverish, urgent lips, “no matter what universe…I will always know you, always want you.”

 

The enchanting hitches of Louis’ breath and the noticeable bobbing of his throat let Harry know that he’s close to coming but with the way his fist feels around Harry, there’s no telling who will fall over the precipice first.

 

“I didn’t know,” Louis says, sounding somewhat confused, his eyebrows forming a little furrow as he gazes up at Harry, “I couldn’t figure it out…why you felt so important. I just knew I wanted to go with you. I guess I felt like leaving with this strange boy in poorly buttoned flannel and tight jeans was so much better than waiting around for this shapeless demon of a person. I was safe and I—“Louis’ breath stutters, “I knew that much. You held your hand out to me and you said…it’s really dramatic, don’t laugh pl--“

 

“I won’t laugh,” Harry promises, gently pushing Louis’ hair back away from his eyes and then proceeding to comb through the tangled ends with his fingers.

 

“You said, “I’ll always be with you sweetheart. I’ll make this feel like home,”” With a tiny, vulnerable whisper that tears Harry’s chest open, Louis wrecks him completely, “and I knew that you would. I knew my home was with you.”

 

Louis’ thumb slips over the head of Harry’s dick, tracing his slit with ease and Harry comes with a half anguished and half ecstatic cry, collapsing over Louis’ body with the shock of immense pleasure. His dick streaks warm come up Louis’ stomach and Harry’s limbs turn to jelly as each wave of pleasure rolls through his body. The change in position pushes Louis’ dick up at a weird angle and Harry freezes as the head catches on his exposed rim. He gurgles with pleasure as Louis’ breath cuts short and his fingers rake over Harry’s spine. Louis comes with a low and surprisingly deep growl. Harry can feel Louis’ come dripping slippery and slick around his hole as he straightens up. It feels amazing, like a part of him belongs to Louis or something. Perhaps the other way round. Either way, it only makes Harry’s dick twitch again, spurting out more come against Louis’ lovely navel.

 

“Harry, _jesus_. I’m so sorry. Harry…babe, get up.”

 

Harry’s head flies up so fast he almost gets whiplash. Louis’ blue eyes are wide and panicked as he clutches at Harry’s hips and squeezes, trying to lift Harry off of him himself. Harry pulls himself off Louis’ lap but he immediately frames Louis’ cheeks with his hands as Louis rises up onto his knees.

 

“What’s wrong Lou? It’s okay. I liked it sweetheart. It was perfect.”

 

“No, no Harry,” Louis’ eyes fill with distraught tears as his voice strains at the edges, “you don’t get it babe. I just came and it--it was in--or it went in—and I haven’t been tested. _Harr_ y. Duncan and Sasha. I don’t know—I just don’t know.”

 

“Oh. It’s okay,” Harry rubs his thumbs over Louis’ tears, his own forming not out of fear for what Louis might have given him but more out of shared pain. “I don’t think any went in and if it did, we’ll work it out. We’ll both go get tested today. I’m sure it’s fine sweetheart. You didn’t mean to.”

 

“If I gave you--“

 

“You didn’t do anything,” Harry says fiercely, making sure his eyes are level with Louis’ as he drills this into his brain. “Your monster of an ex fucked another guy and didn’t even have the curtesy to tell you if he was safe. That’s not your fault baby.”

 

“I just didn’t think—until now. I didn’t think about—“

 

“I didn’t either. Do you want to check? You can have a look for me now if it will help give you a bit of peace of mind until we can get tested.”

 

Louis nods, tears still streaming down his cheeks. Harry pushes up onto his heels and plants a wet kiss on the top of Louis’ head, eliciting a precious hiccup from the man himself. Then he gets on his hands and knees, scooting up towards the headboard so Louis has plenty of room to get in behind him. Louis’ fingers close over his cheeks, spreading him wide and Harry can’t help but look back at the image of Louis’ head between his cheeks, examining his hole. He knows this is serious and that this could legitimately be the nail in his coffin but somehow it’s forcibly pushed to the back of his mind. It’s replaced with the stunning image of a beautiful man inspecting him from behind. He’s never felt like this about anybody. Having someone’s eyes on him has never felt so intimate and not nearly so intense. Perhaps it’s because he trusts Louis so implicitly.

 

“There’s nothing,” Louis chokes out, squeezing Harry’s cheeks, “there’s nothing inside.”

 

_I love you._

 

“I’m glad Lou. We’ll get tested today, okay? You know there’s still a risk.”

 

“I know but…but I can’t see it inside. I was just so worried I’d—“ Louis’ mouth presses against the curve of Harry’s cheek, his thumbs still spreading Harry’s hole wide, “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you Haz. ”  


“You wouldn’t. Not if you could help it. That’s what matters Lou.”

 

Harry starts to sit up but he lets out a cry of alarm when Louis tugs him back down by the sides of his feet.

 

“W-what are you doing?”

 

“Cleaning up after myself,” Louis responds with a smirk in his voice.

 

He can’t possibly mean--

 

“Jesus Lou,” Harry moans, dropping his head into his arms as Louis’ tongue swirls around the outside of his hole, collecting a stream of come, “you’re going to be the end of me.”

 

Louis pays him no mind, making a sinful slurping noise as he tends to Harry’s arse with deliberately slow strokes of his tongue and just barely there grazes of his teeth. At one point, he teases Harry’s rim with his thumb while his teeth sink into Harry’s left arse cheek. Harry loses it, thrashing about as Louis struggles to hold him down. Then, just when Harry thinks Louis’ done with him, pulling back to admire what must be an incredible sheen of moisture all up his crack, he dives right back in with a weighted breath and jams his tongue right up inside Harry. He curls it into a point and stabs aggressively at Harry’s walls until Harry starts to shudder and comes again, completely dry, orgasm hurtling through his body as he moans Louis’ name. Louis pulls away with an affectionate pat to his bum cheek and a pleased little chuckle.

 

“Well that was fun.”

 

“I’m dead,” Harry groans, burying his head in the pillow that smells exactly like Louis. How can he still be turned on? He just had two subsequent orgasms, “you’re going to have to revive me.”

 

Louis gently lays down over his back, stretching his arms out along Harry’s until their fingers touch. He fits his fingers into the spaces between Harry’s and then plants a line of kisses down the back of Harry’s neck and the top of his spine, squeezing his fingers intermittently and rubbing his soft fringe along Harry’s sensitive skin.

 

“Thank you,” he sighs.

 

“For what?”

 

“For wining and dining me yesterday. For courting me. For taking me out like a proper teenage--“

 

“I get it,” Harry muffles his giggle in the puffy pillow. Louis kisses the side of his jaw anyway, “and I’m glad you had a good time. Because I was nervous, you know. It’s not always easy to go from friends to this and I didn’t want you to feel like we were making a mistake. And yet I also didn’t want you to feel like you had to be okay with it either. I know it can’t be easy. He’s a part of you and that doesn’t just disintegrate because you want it to.”

 

“I know,” Louis agrees, “and I don’t expect that I’ll recover at the drop of the hat. I still feel that weight pressing down on me…reminding me of how small and weak I felt when I lay on that floor. I still can’t quite shake him. But I am…” Louis breathes out heavily against the nape of Harry’s neck, tickling his skin, “I am ready.”

 

Harry abruptly rolls over, catching Louis by the hips as he begins to tumble sideways. Somehow he repositions Louis so that he’s seated squarely in his lap. Louis quirks an eyebrow at him and Harry grins, a little too pleased with his own manoeuvre.

 

“Ready for what?”

 

Louis cups his jaw, pressing their mouths together. He buries a hand in Harry’s curls, winding them around his fingers and then squeezes Harry around the base of his neck. Harry whines into his mouth and feels Louis’ resulting smile curl against his lips.

 

“Ready to take the first step,” he rasps, holding Harry’s eyes, “with you there. I want you to help me.”

 

Harry quirks an eyebrow this time.

 

“Help you how?”

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

……..

 

“Is it bring your Harry to work day then?” Harry asks with a cute little quirk of his mouth, trailing his fingers over the bench along the side of the room.

 

Louis’ heart flutters in his chest and he walks toward Harry, meeting him halfway. He presses his open palm up against Harry’s chest to stop him moving any further, raising a curious eyebrow in question.

 

“Is that what you are then?” He asks, pulse racing, “ _my_ Harry?”

 

Louis’ not 100% sure that this is a DTR, or at least not the traditional kind but it’s close enough. They may have only slept together for the first time last night and they may still have the imminent threat of Duncan’s return looming over their heads but Louis is not the kind to mess about. At least not since he was young, stupid and sleeping with anything that had a pulse….or a dick. He knows what he wants and it’s most definitely the green eyed, curly brunette before him, currently looking down at him like Louis’ the most miraculous photograph he’s ever taken.

 

Harry takes Louis’ hand and then slides it up under his shirt, holding it to that special spot on his hip. Louis traces the shape of the letters, knowing their placing without even needing to look at them.

 

“I dunno,” Harry’s eyes sparkle with gorgeous humour, “you’re the one who tattooed your last name onto me.”

 

Then he pulls Louis’ hand up to his chest, crushing Louis’ palm against his heart. Louis can feel its heavy thump beneath his fingers, slow but deep. Strong. Almost like Harry himself. The kind of enigmatic brilliance that only comes to life when everything else is still and you focus on that central glow, ignoring the chaotic bustle of everything else that surrounds it.

 

“This is a strange place to be doing this,” Louis says to break the tension, reluctantly pulling his hand out from beneath Harry’s shirt.

 

“You’re the one that brought us here,” Harry challenges, tapping Louis’ bottom lip with his pointer finger.

 

Louis rolls his eyes.

 

“This was not what I had in mind.”

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

Louis pulls Harry over to the chair by the hand and then uses the same hand to hoist himself up onto it. Harry grips his waist, lifting him the final inch. Louis pretends it doesn’t make him all squirmy inside. He won’t be Harry’s tiny little lover. When he turns over, Harry’s gazing down at him with arched eyebrows and an openly curious look.

 

“New tattoo?”

 

Louis nods, massaging his bottom lip between two fingers. His palms feel very sweaty all of a sudden.

 

“I want you to do it,” he bursts out, his eyes widening at his own little explosion, “I want you to…fix it.”

 

“Lou, what are you talking about? I can’t give you a tattoo…I’m not like--and what do you mean fix it? Fix what?”

 

Harry looks awfully out of sorts as he drums his fingers on the bed next to Louis’ hip. Louis grabs his hand and slots his fingers in between, squeezing for emphasis. It gets Harry to look back up at him and when he does, Louis begins to speak with earnestness and fervent hope.

 

“Haz,” he starts, breathing out deeply as he collects his thoughts. Harry looks similarly nervous but ever the selfless saviour, he simply knits his hand in Louis’ fringe, dragging his fingers through the softness and settling Louis’ insides in the process. “I want you to fix my tattoo. My wrist one. Make it into something else. I don’t care what…I just don’t want it there anymore. If Liam can do it, you bloody can. I wasn’t ready when I first met you or when he…when he hurt me and not when we were in New York. I wasn’t ready yesterday when you asked me what it was. I was terrified because it was like two parts of my world were colliding. My past,” Louis directs his eyes meaningfully down at his wrist, “and my future,” he locks eyes with Harry and the molten green of Harry’s gaze oozes heart stopping warmth, “….in the same room, on the same day. It was too much. I didn’t want _him_ to be part of us, even if his actions brought us together. But after last night, after being with you like that and feeling you _in_ me…after feeling something so intense, like I’ve never experienced before in my life, I _was_ ready. I know I can’t completely move on yet, not like I wish I could but this…this would be the first step. And I want to take it with you. Please.”

 

Harry is silent as he leans down and brushes his mouth over Louis’, gently sliding his tongue across Louis’ bottom lip to gain access. Louis parts his mouth and Harry sucks on the fleshiness of his bottom lip before making his way inside. His fingers carefully massage Louis’ scalp in the same gentle way that his tongue massages Louis’. It’s ridiculously soft and slow and when Harry’s hand reaches down to squeeze Louis’ side as he pulls back, Louis whines low in his throat. Harry acquiesces with a mewl of his own and sucks on Louis’ lower lip for a little longer before he pulls back completely. Louis sighs with exaggerated despair, blowing an exasperated puff of air out of his pouted lips.

 

“What?” Harry asks, his puffy mouth screwed up tightly with contained amusement.

 

Louis’ eyes dance.

 

“It’s just a pity, you know,” he guides his hand through the air in Harry’s general direction, “breathing is such an inconvenience.”

 

Harry’s laugh is raspy and soft. He spills it against the entrance to Louis’ mouth while he cups the back of Louis’ head and kisses him again, this time with more heat. It’s hopelessly endearing when he breaks away for a breathless giggle and face plants straight into Louis’ collar bone. Louis just pets the back of his head and tries not to fall headfirst in love. Then he startles, letting out a surprised squeak as Harry’s tongue lathes over his collar bone and the softness of his neck. Harry pulls back up with a sheepish grin.

 

“Sorry,” he grins around his slight embarrassment, “you just smell so good.”

 

Louis chuckles and then pulls Harry into an open mouthed kiss, sliding his tongue deep into Harry’s mouth and making the other lad moan obscenely as he pushes back harder with his own.

 

“Nope,” Louis pants, breaking away with a devious quirk of his lips, “can’t smell you through my tongue.”

 

Harry’s laugh echoes around the room as he throws his head back, his whole body shaking. He gathers Louis’ cheeks in his palms and thumbs over the contented crinkles around his eyes.

 

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re ludicrous Louis Tomlinson?” He asks, grin touching his ears, “Like full blown ridiculous?”

 

“I dunno,” Louis opens his mouth against Harry’s wrist, expression playful. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re completely absurd?”

 

Harry looks ridiculously pleased by the tone of the conversation, fighting back a round of giggles while he nods at Louis, chocolate curls bobbing happily alongside his cheeks.

 

“More than a few times if I’m being honest,” Harry leans forward as though to share a secret, “but I don’t think he has a leg to stand on. His whole body is _completely_ absurd. ”

 

“You’re not cute,” Louis bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Something in Harry’s expression tells him he’s not doing a bang up job. “And my body is _not_ absurd, you’re biased.”

 

“Let’s test this, shall we?” Harry asks, eyes suddenly gleaming.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Harry slides his phone out from his pocket and Louis’ eyes widen with horror. Harry’s fingers fly over the keys and Louis glowers at him.

 

“They’re my friends, they’re hardly going to disagree.”

 

“They will if they don’t know you’re with me. Besides, I didn’t ask them to rate your body sweetheart…it’s not about that. I want you to value yourself based on your own estimation, not theirs. However I’m quite happy to prove to you that the things I see in you aren’t a result of my own affection for you. They’re facts. Objective.”

 

Louis shakes his head at him, confused.

 

“So what did you ask them?”

 

“Whether they’d sleep with you,” Louis’ mouth falls open and he chokes on his own spit. Harry chuckles at his expression. “I added a disclaimer, letting them know that no, I wouldn’t hold it against them and yes, of course I was referring to an alternate universe where you’re not their best mate and my—“ Harry’s eyes dart nervously away from his own, “well… a universe where we’re not involved.”

 

“Ni-Niall’s not even gay,” Louis stutters out.

 

Harry shrugs, chuckling a little as he shuts Louis’ mouth for him.

 

“His first wet dream was about a bloke. He told me that when I first mentioned to him that I was gay.”

 

Louis lets out a slightly strained laugh.

 

“Seriously?!”  


Harry nods, still smirking. Then his phone chimes twice and he unlocks it quickly. He reads the messages in silence, his expression entirely unreadable. Louis almost chews through his lip waiting for the verdict. It’s not as if he wants his friends to fuck him, or that he even wants them to _want_ to fuck him. He just…it would be nice if what Harry was saying was true. It would be nice to feel like this whole thing isn’t happening simply because Harry’s a saint and always sees the best in people. Louis shouldn’t need to be validated by other people, Harry’s right but the journey to re-gaining his self-esteem isn’t always going to be smooth sailing and sometimes he might just need a little push. That little push comes when Harry shoves the phone under his nose.

 

Liam: _Gross._

Louis feels nauseous and slightly vulnerable. He’s awfully tempted to throw Harry’s stupid phone at his stupid, smug face. Why is he smiling like that when---

 

Liam: _Fine. But u asked. If he wasn’t Louis then yes. U beter not use this against me harry. And don’t tell Tommo! He’ll never let me live it down._

Louis feels his heart sing with hope and it’s ridiculous because this is his best mate and he feels almost as nauseous at the thought of _fucking_ Liam as he does at the thought of Liam being turned off by him. But. Liam isn’t a con artist and he doesn’t do bullshit. Liam actually finds him attractive…like _actually_. Liam, the guy who’s dating the freaking gorgeous model with razor sharp cheekbones and “come to bed” eyes.

 

“That’s enough,” Louis says with a gruff note to his voice. He violently shoves Harry’s phone back into his hands, “I don’t want to see the others.”

 

Harry’s phone immediately chimes twice more. Harry doesn’t even look over the contents before forcing it back into Louis’ hands and it’s that which has Louis finding the courage to look. Harry trusts their responses that much. Louis taps on Zayn’s message with shaking hands.

 

Zayn: **Obviously.**

**If I’m living in an alternate universe where Liam and I aren’t together, then I’d definitely have your boy on his knees. Now, now H…put that knife down babe ;) x**

Louis splutters out a surprised laugh and then turns the phone around for Harry to read. Harry looks potentially murderous for about five seconds before he lets out a similarly abrupt laugh. _Your boy_ , Louis likes the sound of that a little more than he’d care to admit.

 

“Told you,” Harry says between chuckles, “they’d be lining up in this alternate universe of mine.”

 

“Seems like they already are,” Louis manages to joke, even though his throat feels tight and his eyes tingle around the edges.

 

Harry notices of course but he pays no mind, drawing his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip with a dimpled smile lighting up his face.

 

“Cheeky,” he scolds.

 

“Niall hasn’t replied,” Louis says with an uneven frown, “you probably scared him half to death, poor bloke. What a horrifying image.”

 

“Stop that,” Harry traces his cheekbone with a single finger, his apple green eyes more heartbreakingly solemn than they have any right ever being, “stop retrieving _his_ words in your mind.”

 

As always, Harry’s ability to read him is uncanny. Louis smiles sadly beneath the gentle touch and hands Harry’s phone back. Harry jumps as it chimes a few times more. When he reads the messages, his eyes go wide, his mouth falls open and then he collapses over Louis’ body, laughing raucously into his neck.

 

“What?! What did he say?” Louis shrieks, pounding on Harry’s back to get him to lift up.

 

Harry turns the phone around for him to see, his eyes filled with teary-eyed mirth. Louis holds his breath as he reads the texts.

 

Niall: **_Not exactly my type H_**

****

**_But there was that wet dream_ **

****

**_And I might have accidently stumbled across some gay porn. Or not. I just wanted to know what it looked like_ **

****

**_Anyway, arse isn’t the worst thing in the world and Louis’ is top notch. So yeah, I guess?_ **

****

Louis bursts into relieved laughter and then looks up at Harry with wonder.

 

“I can’t believe--“

 

“I know,” Harry interrupts him, cupping the back of his head and quietly nipping at his mouth, “but I wish you could.”

 

“I want to,” Louis admits with a slightly shy smile, “maybe someday.”

 

Harry doesn’t say anything, just smiling dreamily at Louis as if thinking about a distant point in the future where Louis might actually believe that his mates would gladly fuck him. Louis shakes his head at that ridiculous train of thought.

 

“How did you manage to sidestep the whole conversation about my tattoo?” Louis says with bewilderment.

 

Harry traces the confused furrow between his eyebrows with a self-indulgent grin.

 

“You’re just that easily distracted Lou.”

 

“Harry,” Louis sighs, making sure to bite down on the fleshiest part of his mouth as he looks up at him from beneath his lashes, “please.”

 

“I’m so attracted to you,” Harry groans with a shake of his curly head, “it’s pitiful.”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

Louis grins from ear to ear.

 

“Just….explain it to me again. If I’m going to do this, I need to know it’s for a good reason.”

 

Louis nods obediently and then tugs on Harry’s hand, pulling it across to rest on his stomach and holding it in place. Harry’s mouth tilts up gently.

 

“I want you to do this because you’re the one who came into my life and changed it from the inside out. You know full well how many people have told me to get the fuck out of that relationship and to run a mile from him. I never listened and I never wanted to. I was so deeply enthralled by this illusion of what we had. I was stuck Haz and I forgot what it could feel like to be entranced with more than an idea. I didn’t remember what it could be like to want somebody who wanted me back. And more than that, it was how you changed me.

 

“Like, every word you said about the worth of my feelings and my worth in general, it was somehow different to anything anybody had ever told me before. I could feel it when you looked at me and it was like being clothed in intimate possibility. I may have been able to walk away on my own but without meeting you, this gorgeous, unbelievably good hearted person, I would never have really tried. I would never have known it was what I wanted. You know I have scars, ones that can’t always be seen and the pain, it does get hard but when you’re here,” Louis tugs on Harry’s huge hand with both of his, “I can’t feel a thing.”

 

Harry looks like he might cry a little and Louis loves it. He loves that there’s a deep, glowing happiness in the breadth of Harry’s smile and that his watery green eyes hint at how overwhelmingly touched he feels upon hearing Louis’ truth.

 

“All I want is to make you happy,” Harry breathes, leaning down to press his forehead against Louis’ with a heavy, emotional shudder. “Is that ridiculous to say? Is it too soon for that?”

 

It is. Of course it is but it sends a shockwave of intense feeling throughout Louis’ system in the best possible way. Like an orgasm…but emotional. An emotional orgasm. Is that a thing? _Anyway_ , Louis suspects that there are no conventional dating limits with someone like Harry Styles. He realises he doesn’t truly mind either. He only wishes he’d been a bit more insistent about the DTR. He could ask again right now but he finds his heart jumps around in his chest at the thought and he thinks it might be best just to wait for Harry bring it up again.

 

“Yes,” Louis admits as he sighs into Harry’s open mouth, “but I’ll let it pass.”

 

Harry lets out a shaky laugh, sliding his fingers through Louis’ hair as their lips surge against each other, tracking moisture back and forth.

 

“So,” Louis says, holding Harry’s gaze, “how about that tattoo Styles?”

 

…….

 

“Erhm, you can look now.”

 

When Louis sits up and glances down at his wrist, he does a double take, his head flipping up quickly to frown at Harry in confusion,

 

“That’s today’s date?”

 

Harry’s thumb gently traces the fresh ink and then runs down to press against his palm.

 

“I know love.”

 

Louis pouts at him, not in the mood for riddles.

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

“Today is the day you decided to take the first step,” Harry explains, brushing his hand down along Louis’ neck to cover his collar bone, “today is the day you decided you were ready to move on. For real. I figured you wouldn’t mind having a reminder of that. It’s a testament to how brave you are. And you are. So brave darling.”

 

Louis tries unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“Thank you,” he smiles up at Harry, hope radiating out of his warm blue irises, “it’s so beautiful, thank you.”

 

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry thumbs over his collar bone, his smile soft and smooth, “thank you for trusting me sweetheart.”

 

“You’ve not given me a reason not to,” Louis exposes his teeth, “and you were pretty precise when it came to my prostate.”

 

Harry throws his head back on a giddy, loud laugh and then gently squeezes Louis’ cheek, his lips pressed into a quietly amused smile.

 

“You really shouldn’t mention the inside of your arse when we’re outside of the bedroom baby.”

 

“My apologies,” Louis tugs at Harry’s shirt, drawing him in close and whispering breathily in his ear, “I just can’t forget how I licked the inside of _your_ arse clean.”

 

Harry groans and pushes him away, reaching down to adjust himself in his trousers.

 

“You,” he waggles an accusing finger in Louis’ face, “are obscene.”

 

Louis feels quite pleasantly drunk with power.

 

……

 

Harry tugs Louis up the stairs with stars shining in those mesmerising green eyes of his. He looks for all the world like somebody who’s just been told he’s about to become a father or something equally celebratory. Instead, it’s their new found freedom. After Harry had altered Louis’ tattoo yesterday, they had mutually decided that if their blood tests came back clean, they would readily make use of the fact. Louis had been practically vibrating in his seat when they took his blood, unable to think of anything else but Harry’s bare cock thrusting up inside his arse. The thought of Harry coming inside him had Louis literally squirming in his seat, which in turn lead to the nurse securing his arm with a firm hand as she gave him a stern warning look. Harry had looked across at him and smirked as if he knew exactly where Louis’ mind had just gone. Louis only had to arch his eyebrows and direct his glance down to Harry’s crotch to remind him that he wasn’t the only one getting worked up.

 

Louis had been so immersed in Harry that he’d miraculously forgotten all about the threat of AIDS and other STI’s until earlier today. Until he was standing in the parlour two days later with a text from his doctor flashing up on his screen. With shaking hands, he had unlocked his phone but the wash of sudden terror was too much and he found himself dialling Harry’s number instead.

 

“’lo,” Harry’s voice rumbled upon picking up, sounding an awful lot like he’d just taken a nap and really, he probably had. He’d scheduled an early morning event with some track team that wanted a few shots of themselves in action. “What’s up baby?”

 

Louis hadn’t yet gotten used to the pet names. It still gave him a little thrill down the back of his spine every time Harry’s mouth formed the word “baby”. It sounded even softer in Harry’s mouth now that they were together. _If_ they were. They still hadn’t really hammered out the details.

 

Upon hearing Harry’s sleepy tone, Louis was just itching just to drive home, curl up against his side and take a nap with him. Sleeping with Harry was phenomenal but _actually_ sleeping with him was like remembering what it was to fall asleep as a child, safe, cosy and oh so protected. It was incomparable to falling asleep with Duncan. Falling asleep with Harry was that sensation of knowing you were safe and secure in your warmth because you were certain that the person beside you would take care of you, rain, hail or shine. It only reaffirmed the fact that Harry made everything feel like home. Louis simply couldn’t think of a safer place to rest his head than on Harry’s chest. He loved turning over onto his side and not needing to push himself back up against Harry because Harry would always swiftly pull him in at the waist, securing Louis to his front. He would tangle their fingers together and draw them up to Louis’ chest, clenching and unclenching them softly until Louis’ pulse slowed and he descended gently into a peaceful dream. A dream devoid of Duncan. Waking up crushed against Harry’s front with warm lips brushing over his neck and shoulder…it was the kind of wake up that Louis couldn’t foresee himself getting sick of anytime soon.

 

“I got a text,” Louis had choked out, “from the doctor. I haven’t checked it.”

 

Louis could hear the rustling of the sheets as Harry sat up in the bed and then most probably, pulled his phone away from his ear to check it.

 

“Oh,” Harry’s voice was muted and suddenly sombre, “me too.”

 

He coughed and then spoke again a second later, “are you okay sweetheart?”

 

“Are you?”

 

“I’m a little nervous to be honest,” Harry said truthfully and Louis appreciated the fact that he wasn’t trying to sugar-coat it, “but I also know that whatever happens, we’ll be there for each other. Pick someone supportive, isn’t that what they say? I pick you.”

 

Louis chuckled wetly down the line.

 

“You pick me? What are we in sixth grade Harold?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

Harry paused and then breathed heavily before speaking again.

 

“C’mon Lou, we can do this. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not on my watch.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes. Noble but naïve. The universe doesn’t give a fuck whether Harry wants him here or not. Besides, Harry totally missed the mark.

 

“You still don’t get it,” Louis said, frustrated, “I’m not worried about that. Or, I am… but not like--I’m worried about you. Hurting you and making you sick. After all you’ve done for me and I just…I care about you. You’re the last person I’d pick to go through this. You’re so good Harry.”

 

“I think we should check them,” Harry said, a patch of roughness in his tone, “before I start blubbering.”

 

Louis found it within himself to chuckle. Harry’s combined strength and faith in the two of them made him feel an awful lot braver on his end.

 

“Okay,” Louis agreed, “oh but Harry?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I pick you too babe.”

 

Louis could feel Harry’s smile down the line. He took the phone away from his ear and minimised Harry’s phone call so he could click on his messages. He felt like he may vomit as he clicked on it, his heart thumping against his ribcage like a horse’s hooves pounding against a race track on the final stretch. Louis’ breath stopped completely when he read the words on his phone and then elated tears filled his eyes. He lifted his phone back up to his ear with desperate hope. If he’s—then Harry can’t be…

 

“Harry,” he said quietly and when there was no response, against all logic, tears blurred his vision and his voice broke twice, “Harry, are you there babe?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry suddenly breathed, “yeah I’m here Lou.”

 

“And?” Louis was holding his breath, his heart caught somewhere between the lines of his rib cage, pressing up against the parallel lines of his bones.

 

“And I’m clean sweetheart. What about you?”

 

“Me too,” Louis’ smile was hooked around his ears as he brushed away his tears with the side of his hand, “I’m so happy. I can’t wait to see you.”

 

“I can’t wait to celebrate,” Harry agreed with an audible smirk. Louis giggled like a child. “I’m going to ravish you when you get home.”

 

“I’m going to let you,” Louis’ voice was tight with lust. Harry started to laugh but it tapered off quickly with Louis’ next sentence. “Going to let you fill me up until I’m leaking. Until I can feel you dripping down my thighs, too warm. ”

 

Louis grinned as he heard the rapid swish of Harry’s pants being pulled down and the snick of the lube.

 

“Going to suck on your fingers and get them nice and wet. Then you can finger me open, nice and deep, slamming your fingers inside me until I’m just crying out for your cock. Raw, wet and open. All for you love.”

 

“Fuck,” Harry panted, the distant sound of a hand working over his wet dick unmistakable to Louis’ ears, “ _so_ hot. I want to fuck you. Right now. Just want-- _agh_.”

 

Louis kept talking, keeping his voice low and sultry while praying that his next client would be as late as she usually is.

 

“Not until I get you proper worked up love. I’m going to suck you, opening my mouth around the throbbing head of your dick, swallowing every last drop of pre come you leak against my tongue. I’ll glide up and down the underside of your dick with my hot tongue,” Louis can hear Harry urging him on with a quiet, whispered litany of “ _yes, yes, yes...please_ ” “…just pressing insistently on that thick vein and jerking you off at the same time. Teasing you endlessly.”

 

“Shit sweetheart,” Harry gasped, sounding positively gone.

 

 Louis could not be more endeared.  Overwhelmed by lust and the thought of coming but still the same Harry, managing to be soft with Louis and making him feel all tingly with affection at the same time.

 

“Just when you think you’re going to come I’ll back up onto you, holding myself open as I sink down onto your cock in one go. I’ll feel you everywhere, leaking all over my walls as I slam down against you, crying out for more. You’ll feel my tight hole sucking you in and swallowing your cock as your hips buck up and you thrust up inside my tight, wet heat.”

 

“Lou, Lou, Lou,” Harry began chanting, begging for release, “oh my _god_.”

 

“And when I bounce back on you particularly hard, the head of your cock will hit my prostate head on, milking the orgasm from me as my arse clenches tight around you. Do you feel that Haz? You can’t hold it anymore, can you? Your fingers dig into my hips and you split your legs open around me so you can thrust up higher into me, making me spill against my stomach again and again. You fuck up into me, jamming your cock so far up inside me that I can feel you in my stomach. And my arse around you…it feels so good, _so_ tight. You can’t control yourself. You come inside me for the very first time…with nothing between us, your warm come just dripping from my arse baby.”  


Harry growled down the line and then dropped the phone. Louis heard a quite chorus of, “ _holy mother of god_ ” as Harry rolled around the bed. Louis could picture it too. Harry’s hard, muscled body glistening with fresh sweat as he rocked from side to side, a loose hand fitted around his cock as it spilled sticky and white against his stomach. Louis had to adjust himself in his trousers because there was no way he had time for a wank.

 

“Shit,” Harry picked the phone up with a contented sigh, “I just came so hard. It was like I _was_ fucking you. Your _voice_ and the things you say and just—god, I’m getting hard again just thinking of it. I’ve never…” Harry cleared his throat, sounding bashful, “I’ve never done that before.”

 

“Me either,” Louis admitted with a pointless shrug, “but that was fun.”

 

“Understatement,” Harry groaned, “understatement of the century.”

 

Louis giggled into his hand, his stomach twisting with beautiful butterflies. He couldn’t believe he was going to get to go home to this guy.

 

“I’ll see you later yeah?” He said with happiness radiating out of his chest.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, sounded similarly inflicted, “I--bye.”

 

It was a weird goodbye. As if Harry had something more to say but wasn’t sure he could…or should perhaps. Louis put it down to post orgasm confusion and hung up the phone, bemoaning the fact that he had to spend another two hours inking people up before he got to go home to the gorgeous, sinful hipster waiting to fuck him bare.

 

Harry met him at the door to the building and now Louis is currently being towed along like a rag doll. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. Harry has champagne under one arm and his other hand is tangled with Louis’. His green eyes glitter brilliantly as he looks back at Louis with a bright smile.

 

“I’ve got something brilliant to tell you,” he says and even so, there’s an intriguing hint of nervousness in that shining smile, “something I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks.”

 

Now that makes Louis apprehensive. Something Harry’s been keeping from him. Louis doesn’t like those kinds of surprises.

 

“Harry--“

 

“I promise you’ll like it,” Harry says, pulling him up the last step onto their floor and wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist, “or…I mean, like I can’t promise that exactly but I think you will. I hope you will. You’re different now and we’re different now and I just think--“

 

Louis shuts him up with a particularly urgent, sucking kiss, scrunching the backs of Harry’s curls between his fingers and using his firm grasp on them to tug the taller boy closer. Harry squeezes his hip and then turns them around, backing Louis up against the door to their flat. He takes the key from his back pocket all without breaking for breath, sliding his tongue in and out of Louis’ mouth in a slow repetitive motion that makes Louis a little dizzy with want. His hands roam up the inside of Louis’ shirt, gripping him possessively and Louis arches up into the touch, pressing his bare stomach against Harry’s middle.

 

“Harry!”

 

Louis and Harry break the steamy kiss with a shared mournful sigh. Louis quickly rights himself, tugging his shirt back down and wiping a hand over his flushed, wet lips. Harry doesn’t look nearly as embarrassed as Louis when they turn and find Mrs Dawson gazing fondly at them, albeit with a lively spark of mischief flaring in her eyes.

 

“Perhaps it might be better if you did that somewhere more private boys,” she advises with a wink, “plenty of walls in your flat.”

 

Harry chuckles as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to be getting sex advice from the maternal looking grandmother that lives a few doors down. Louis on the other hand, squirms in his spot, his cheeks blooming pink. This only makes Harry reach down and flatten the back of his mussed hair, pecking him on the lips with warm, affectionate eyes.

 

“Gorgeous couple,” Mrs Dawson comments and Harry turns back to her with what can only be described as a smug smile, “and I’d love to have you both round for dinner soon but Harry, I’m really glad I caught you dear. It’s the geraniums, I need to ask you an important question about them.”

 

Harry looks just as confused as Louis.

 

“What gerani-“

 

“Harry, it’s important,” Mrs Dawson gives him a meaningful look and then turns her head a fraction to smile a little more gently at Louis, like he’s the sweetest thing she’s ever laid eyes on. “You don’t mind, do you dear?”

 

“No,” Louis shakes his head, beaming kindly at her. He’s confused as to what’s happening but this woman has the face of every kindly grandmother he’s ever met combined, “course not. Haz is all yours.”

 

Harry raises an eyebrow at him as he backs up the hall.

 

“All hers, am I?” he challenges with an expectant grin, “you don’t want to stake a claim at all?”

 

Louis’ canines show as he smirks back at him

 

“Nope. You’re a free agent babe.”

 

Harry waggles a finger at him just as he disappears inside Mrs Dawson’s flat.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind Tomlinson.”

 

Louis winks at him in reply. _Yes_ _Styles, I would like to stake a claim._ Sooner rather than later. He just wishes Harry would bring it up differently. Without the joking, playful tone. Louis has a relaxed smile on his face as he turns around to let himself into Harry’s flat. Then he realises Harry still has the key. He rolls his eyes and then collects it from the spot where Harry’s dropped it halfway between their flat and Mrs. Dawson’s. He’s about to turn and let himself in but something…or someone, grabs him from behind, whirling him around to face them.

 

“Duncan,” Louis gasps, his eyes flying wide with shock.

 

“Hello,” Duncan says, taking his hand from Louis’, “I’m glad I ran into you.”

 

Duncan looks weirdly calm with a soft smile gracing his lips and a measure of softness in his usually blank green eyes. It makes Louis’ skin prickle. What the fuck is this? He’s clothed in baggy jeans and a white threadbare singlet and he smells like the same shower gel that he’s used for the last three years. Louis would recognise it anywhere. There’s something achingly familiar about the messy blonde hair and the half bitten nails but Louis’ stomach curdles. Familiarity should not be instinctive response. His instinctive response should be to push Duncan away and scream for Harry. His response should be to spit venom in his face and lash out with his fists. If Duncan were even worth that much. Still, Louis can’t deny that sitting behind the anger is a hint of melancholy and a touch of curiosity. Duncan hasn’t looked at him with such focus and such warmth since the very beginning. It doesn’t make sense for him to be looking at Louis this way right now. Not after everything.

 

“Why?” Louis demands, planting his hands on his hips in an attempt to make himself feel stronger, “What possible use could that have? What are you even doing back?”

 

Duncan chuckles and then trails the backs of his knuckles down Louis’ cheekbone. Louis flinches away from his touch. Duncan raises an eyebrow at first but then drops the act, his hand falling to cup Louis’ shoulder instead as he sways into Louis’ space.

 

“I’m so sorry baby.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Louis says through gritted teeth, his heart racing in his chest, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

 

“No, just listen. _Please,_ ” Duncan begs and the desperate plea in his light green eyes pulls at the edges of Louis’ beaten soul. _Why does he look so sincere?_ “I’m so sorry…for everything. For ever touching him, for touching you…for…for leaving you on that floor. There’s so much. I can’t even…” Duncan heaves out a breath and his expression is troubled, “I can’t even put it all into words but I’d like to try. Please. I’m not moving Louis, not now but I’m not trying to torment you or…Harry,” the name sounds bitter in his mouth. “If you really want me to leave, I will but not until you talk to me.”

 

“Talk to you about what?” Louis snaps, “About how you systematically destroyed everything good about me for three years or about how you literally kicked me when I was down? What about how this whole time I was pulling away from Harry, you were cheating on me with somebody else? Don’t you think maybe it’s a bit too late for us to talk? Because I may not have given myself to Harry before but I have now. There’s nothing more to say Duncan.”

 

Duncan’s nostrils are flared now, the gentle remorse replaced by the imminent aggression Louis has come to expect. He waits patiently for the harsh string of pointed insults. Louis flinches away from Duncan as Duncan raises a hand but instead of pushing him up against the wall, he cradles Louis’ cheek. Louis quivers with surprise.

 

“I just want to apologise. That’s all. If you just hear me out tonight…at dinner, I’ll leave the two of you in peace. I think what I say might make a difference but if it doesn’t, I won’t push it. Please.”

 

Duncan’s eyes are determined but pleading and Louis hasn’t seen this side of him for a long time. It shocks a response out of him.

 

“Yes. Okay,” he agrees, bobbing his head a little too fast, “I’ll meet you somewhere tonight.”

 

Duncan nods and then smiles gently as he steps back.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I’m not doing this for you,” Louis says coldly, “I’m doing it for me.”

 

“Course.”

 

Duncan doesn’t say anything more as he turns and enters his flat. Louis leans back against Harry’s door and hits his head on it a few times before turning and entering. _Closure_ , he tells himself, _that’s all this is about_. There’s a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach which makes it cramp up. He winces at the unexpected pain but ignores the reasons for it. He’s on the verge of being truly happy and he’s not going to let one selfish, persistent ex-boyfriend ruin it.

 

……

 

When Mrs Dawson turns to face him, Harry looks at her with a speculative expression and a raised eyebrow.

 

“So where are these mysterious geraniums of yours hmm?” Harry asks, “Last time I checked, you only had roses.”

 

“Yes that’s quite right dear,” Mrs Dawson nods and then sweeps her whitish-grey bangs away from her face, “but we needed an excuse, now didn’t we?”

 

It’s fascinating how this woman can transform from harmless grandmother into a slightly sassy, devious schemer in five seconds flat. The way she’s standing, with her hip cocked and those light blue eyes shining back at him with amusement, she reminds him an awful lot of Louis.

 

“An excuse for what?” Harry sighs, reaching over to plant the bottle of champagne on one of her many dressing tables.

 

“I wanted to give you something. It couldn’t wait.”

 

Harry is intrigued now and he steps forward to follow her as she turns in the direction of her room. However she quickly turns back, motioning for him to stay and so Harry waits, idly tapping his fingers against his jean pocket as he wonders what she could possibly have for him. When she returns, she’s holding something behind her back.

 

“Harry, have I ever told you about how my late husband proposed?”

 

“Of course,” Harry beams at her, remembering the first time she’d charmed him, offering him tea and biscuits as they made flower crowns upon her living room table, “Maurice bought you both round the world tickets. He said he wanted to see everything there is to see so that he would be certain that there was nothing better than the life the two of you could have with each other. He dropped to his knee as soon as you stepped off your flight home at Heathrow.”

 

Mrs Dawson nods and her eyes look a little faraway and just a touch teary as she reveals the small item behind her back. It’s a tiny box covered in red felt that looks a little dusty on the outside but otherwise is quite beautiful. When she flips open the top to reveal what’s inside, Harry lets out a quiet gasp of wonder. Seated in the centre of the black velvet bed is a thin silver band with a large silver diamond in the middle and two smaller ice blue diamonds seated either side. Engraved on the band at each side is an infinity sign. The ring is stunning, mesmerising even and Harry doesn’t realise he’s still gaping until Mrs Dawson lets out a quiet chuckle.

 

“Yes it’s quite the ring,” she agrees with a soft smile, “and he had it hand crafted from scratch. Used almost every dime he had saved. When we got back, we lived on soup and stale bread for months.”

 

Harry cracks a laugh at that and then reaches out to touch the box, hesitating slightly as he does.

 

“Go on,” Mrs Dawson nods at him, eyes sparkling for god knows what reason, “take a look.”

 

Harry holds it up to his eye, inspecting the fine detail and delighting in the way the silver reflects the exquisite blue of the diamonds beside it.

 

“Why the blue?” Harry asks, handing back the ring.

 

“My eyes. I’m afraid they’re not as bright as they used to be but Maurice said that they were a deeper blue than any of the wide oceans we crossed in our travels.”

 

Harry coos a little at that. It’s just so romantic.

 

“I know someone with eyes like that,” Harry muses with a hint of a fond smile, the thought of Louis filling his chest with breathless joy, “they look an awful lot like yours.”

 

“I noticed it too. So what do you think of the ring dear?”

 

“It’s gorgeous,” Harry gushes, wondering at the glimmer of triumph in his friend’s eyes, “but…why are you showing it to me?”

 

“I’m not just _showing_ it to you Harry. I’m giving it to you.”

 

Harry coughs out his response, his eyes blown wide.

 

“You’re what?”

 

“I can’t wear it anymore,” Mrs Dawson says with a sad, tremulous smile, “because of my arthritis. I always planned on giving it to my first child but then I really didn’t plan on being infertile.”

 

Harry flashes a small but sincerely sympathetic smile and Mrs Dawson smiles back, brighter than before.

 

“As such, it’s still up for grabs and I’ve known I wanted to give it to you since the moment I met you. Before you ask why, just remember how kind you were to me, carrying my shopping and shepherding me into the flat like it was your number one job to ensure I got home safely. You even took my coat off for me, remember? You have a good heart Harry Styles… that much was obvious from the beginning but what really convinced me was what you told me about yourself. You told me that the right person wouldn’t need you to be any particular version of yourself, that they wouldn’t constrain you. You said that if you ever met someone who awakened your senses without compromising your mind completely, that there’d be nothing to stop you from falling at their feet and begging to share in their forever. It was a beautiful sentiment, as lovely as the young man who shared it with me.”

 

“Mrs Dawson,” Harry’s voice is rough with gratitude, “I’m honoured that you remember that and that it moved you so deeply but I cannot take your ring. Your _husband’s_ ring. Surely you’d like to keep it with you?”

 

“I’d like it to live on the hand of somebody worthy of its meaning and I know Maurice would feel the same. This ring is symbolic of sixty years of laughter, tears and unshakable strength borne from timeless love. I don’t want it to die with us or with me. So I’ve waited for you to meet somebody who would challenge you, inspire you and capture your kind heart. I was hopeful when you came to me with that request for a rose and then when I met Louis, that gorgeous boy, I was certain. He was made for this ring and you were made to present it to him.”

 

“Louis?” Harry squeaks, somehow not having realised that this may bear some connection to the tattooed man waiting for him a couple doors down, “you want me to propose to _Louis_?! It’s barely been a week since we—and not yet two months since I met him. Please excuse me Mrs. Dawson but are you actually out of your mind?”

 

Mrs Dawson giggles and it sounds so much like Louis that Harry finds his throat tightening with emotion. One day, he and Louis could be like Mrs Dawson and her Maurice. Harry’s heart pounds double time in his chest, his knees going weak as it suddenly occurs to him how badly he wants Louis to wear this ring. Mrs Dawson’s ring. He gazes at the beautiful band proffered to him and inwardly exhales… _Louis’_ ring. It’s ridiculously fast and there’s no way that Harry will ask now, anytime soon or even give any indication to Louis as to how he feels…but Harry _knows_. He knows that nothing short of forever will be ever enough with Louis Tomlinson.

 

“No dear. Of course you can’t ask him yet but when you’re both ready, you will and when you give him my ring, he will wear it with pride. His fingers are just as tiny as mine and it matches his eyes after all,” Mrs Dawson winks at him and Harry feels awfully emotional. “I’ll die a happy woman knowing such a lovely boy wears it. He’s entirely worthy.”

 

“How do you know that we’ll make it there?” Harry bursts out, a touch of desperation in his voice, “What if…what if things don’t work out?”

 

Mrs Dawson places the box in his hand and then folds his fingers around it, holding them there as she looks him dead in the eye.

 

“Maurice and I broke up a total of twelve times before we made it to the altar. We always came back to each other. I don’t believe you and Louis will be without your own obstacles and setbacks but you look at each other in a way that reminds me of something I haven’t seen reflected back at me in eight years. Since Maurice passed. Trust me dear, there’s something special about the two of you.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry says with wet eyes as tantalising images of Louis walking up the aisle towards him fill the spaces of his heart with pure gold, “thank you so much.”

 

“Not at all Harry,” Mrs Dawson smiles and then pulls him into a close hug, whispering in his ear as she does, “he’s just as lucky as you dear.”

 

……

 

Louis might be pacing back and forth in front of the couch when Harry walks in. His skin feels clammy and tight across his bones and he can’t even look Harry in the eye as a hollow echo of Harry’s voice asks him why he’s pacing. _Tell him,_ his conscience begs, _just tell him what you’re going to do. It’s no big deal if you’re only honest with him right now._ Louis decides that there is no way he can survive this without being honest so he opens his mouth to just do that but he makes the mistake of looking up at Harry at the very last second. He promptly lets his mouth fall closed.

 

Harry just looks so unfairly stunning, the champagne tucked neatly under his arm that’s bulging with muscle beneath the tight, silver shirt he’s wearing. It’s buttoned low and fitted closely around his hips, displaying his impeccable love handles that Louis would honestly just kill to sink his teeth into right now. His trousers are skin tight across his thighs and his green eyes shine with the light of a thousand suns. There’s a small bulge around the pocket of his jeans but Louis’ curiosity is mild and short lived as his eyes flit back to the huge smile taking up Harry’s face, dimpling his glowing skin.

 

“I was just trying to figure out the best way to tell you,” Louis gets out through the tightness of his throat, pain flaring up at his temples, “that I can’t celebrate with you tonight. I’m having dinner with Liam. Just us. He misses me.”

 

“But,” Harry looks crestfallen as he runs an absentminded hand through his curls. Louis wants to kiss the lost little pout right off his lips, “we had plans. Didn’t you tell him?”

 

“Course,” Louis’ voice sounds strained and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, forming an upside down V above his eyes, “but it’s Payno. Demanding little prat, that one.”

 

“There’s nothing _little_ about him,” Harry says with a weak chuckle.

 

He looks downright disappointed and Louis feels like an absolute arse. Louis _is_ an absolute arse. Still, he doesn’t take it back and nor does he tell Harry the truth. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s going to get his shit sorted out and then come home to Harry like he planned to. Harry _is_ his home now. He was certain of that two days ago and he’s certain of it now. There will be no changing his mind.

 

“You got that right,” Louis agrees with a half-hearted quirk of his lips. He fears he isn’t even the least bit convincing in his forced joviality, “’s probably why he’s taking me to the gym first. I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

 

“Okay,” Harry looks resigned now as he pulls Louis into his body, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and nuzzling his head, “but hurry back please. If he really needs you that badly, he can have you back when I’m done.”

 

“I’m not an object Styles,” Louis mumbles into his chest, squeezing the front of Harry’s shirt in his fist because he can.

 

“Course not sweetheart,” Harry’s lips press gently against his hair, “but I do need you more than Liam.”

 

It tugs at Louis’ heart but the pleasant glow of contentment is quickly overshadowed by the burden of dark guilt and foreboding. Louis can’t shake the voice inside his head that says that he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Harry. He ends up changing into an Adidas jumper and his loosest jeans. He’s not trying to prove anything. He’s _not_. He just doesn’t want to feel like he’s making effort for somebody who doesn’t deserve it. They’re just going to the diner around the corner anyway so there’s no need for extravagance. He only realises that the jumper is much too big on him because it belongs to Duncan _after_ he steps out into the living room and Harry gathers him close.

 

“You’ve got sweater paws,” Harry says, a hint of a smile on his lips as he squeezes Louis’ jumper covered hands and then folds back the sleeves for him.

 

Should he change? He doesn’t want to inspire the same kind of response in Duncan. Then he remembers how little Duncan thinks of him and how different the two men in his life are and realises it doesn’t matter. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t wear Duncan’s jumper just in case Duncan recognises it and thinks it means something but it’s too late now. Harry is pushing him out the door with a soft kiss and another husky request of, “hurry home Lou.” Louis quickens his pace as he hits the street outside, suddenly intent on avoiding this dinner altogether and just going for a walk for a few hours. Duncan doesn’t deserve closure and Louis has his, doesn’t he? He’s got Harry now and that’s good enough.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

A sharp voice cuts through his ominous thoughts. Louis’ body jolts as a hand curls around his wrist and spins him around.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Louis whisper shouts, unwilling to make a scene.

 

“You told me that you’d hear me out,” Duncan says, a quiet growl curling around the edges of his words, “what changed your mind?”

 

“Harry. I won’t do this to him. I can’t…you don’t deserve my understanding anyway!”

 

“You didn’t tell him?” Duncan arches an eyebrow and Louis hates he flames of triumph burning in his eyes as they fall to Louis’ chest, “and you’re wearing my jumper…why is that? Seems like something you would tell the guy you’re seeing….that you’re meeting up with your ex. Unless--“

 

“I don’t still love you,” Louis snaps.

 

He doesn’t care if it’s only been a couple of weeks. Everything about who Louis was before he met Harry has changed, including his feelings for Duncan.

 

“Okay, okay,” Duncan throws up his hands in a defensive motion, the light green of his eyes widening as if Louis were some kind of rabid and unpredictable dog, “I believe you. I’m sorry…I was just teasing. Still, if you already lied to Harry then there’s no reason not to go through with it. I just want to talk anyway. That’s all. I know you don’t believe me but we’re going to the diner, I’m not going to try and fuck you in the booth, now am I?”

 

Louis flinches at the thought of Duncan touching him like that again and Duncan’s eyes narrow slightly in response. Still, the arsehole might actually have a point. Even if Louis doesn’t go to dinner with him, he still made the mistake of lying to Harry in the first place and truth be told, Louis knows he can’t walk away yet. It’s not because he still loves Duncan or because Duncan can even remotely hold a candle to what he has with Harry but simply because he doesn’t yet understand where it all went wrong.

 

“Fine,” he exhales, “but I’m not staying long.”

 

All Louis wants is to slip back into his shared flat, slide into their bed and nuzzle Harry’s chest. He just wants to kiss the insides of Harry’s perfect creamy thighs and comb through his soft curls until Harry is as pliant and contented as he deserves to be. The sooner Louis gets through this disastrous dinner with Duncan, the sooner he can be with Harry and this time, without any lingering complications.

 

……..

 

Harry is more than a little bit disappointed that Louis had to run off to dinner with Liam. He doesn’t like to think of himself as the overly possessive type but he was hoping to have Louis’ full attention tonight to tell him the big news. Mr Tellman had called to let him know that Harry’s shoot, including Louis as the front cover, would be on the stacks tomorrow morning. While Harry was slightly nervous about telling Louis what he had done, he was mainly ecstatic that it was all going ahead. He couldn’t stop thinking of how lovely it would be if people stopped Louis on the street to ask him if he was “ _that gorgeous male model from the latest issue of GQ_.” He knew Louis might have some trouble coming to terms with the idea at first but he figured that after seeing that shot of himself in Harry’s photo room, he might have significantly less reservations. Louis is starting to see the traces of beauty in his own reflection and though it isn’t nearly enough to satisfy Harry’s longing, it is the start of a revolution inside Louis.

 

So Harry had carefully planned out tonight with a weightless feeling building inside his chest and anxious anticipation dancing just beyond the edges of his eyelids. He would make Louis an exemplary home cooked meal (that they’d eat by candlelight) with three courses, all of which would satisfy Louis’ taste for fried food and sugar, without involving either of course. He’d feed Louis his own Harry-esque raw vanilla slice (sugar free), leaning in to kiss the taste right off Louis’ soft and supple lips. After buttering Louis up with his cooking and some soft, vanilla kisses, Harry would confess. There might be some yelling on Louis’ part, some whimpering and puppy dog eyes on Harry’s but eventually they would come together again. Louis would realise how strongly Harry believes in him and how intent he is on showing the other lad just how obscenely gorgeous he is.

 

Harry would carry Louis to their bedroom, illuminated once again by candles, this time with a summery fruity scent that could only conjure up thoughts of bliss. He’d lay Louis back carefully against the doona, decorated with soft smelling rose petals and then he’d undress him slowly, eyes fixed on Louis’ and only ever straying to catch on the messy softness of his fringe or the smoothness of the skin pulled taut over his hips. He’d mouth over all of Louis’ most sensitive spots and when Louis’ breaths started to hitch and his blue eyes clouded over with lust, Harry would have to hold him closer and bury his lips in Louis’ neck to avoid revealing how deeply in love he’d already fallen. Harry would make love to him bare. Nothing between them but heat and the slide of slick, sweaty skin as Harry sunk into that gorgeous bum again and again and again. He wouldn’t let himself climax until Louis had tumbled over the edge himself.

 

Now Harry has to readjust. Liam Payne is a _pain_ in his arse and not the good kind. Harry giggles to himself about the pun as he prepares. He might have to skip the tasteful entrée and elaborate main course but there’s no reason Louis won’t have room for dessert…and Harry himself hopefully. He cuts two perfect squares of vanilla slice so he won’t have to do it later and slides them onto two square dessert plates. He finishes them off with a drizzle of maple syrup in the corner of each and a carefully constructed heart made out of two halves of a strawberry placed delicately on Louis’ plate alone. Harry only hopes Louis won’t think it’s too cliché. He plans on asking Louis to be his boyfriend when they finish them. “ _You’re berry cute,”_ he will murmur, with an unavoidable giggle bubbling over his lips, “ _and I’d like to date you. Will you be mine Lou?_ ” He places both plates in the fridge and then sets out for the bedroom to continue setting up. He lets his mind wander, fantasising about some point in the future where he gets to really show off his romantic chops. The ring is currently sitting in the bottom of his sock drawer and it’s embarrassing to admit but Harry’s heart beats double time every time he thinks of sliding it onto Louis’ finger. Ridiculous…but then he never claimed to be anything but.

 

……

 

“You wanted to talk…so talk.”

 

Louis sips delicately from the tea beside him and avoids eating the double cheeseburger in front of him purely out of principle. Duncan had ordered for him, without asking and as if that wasn’t enough, he seemed to be trying to prove something by ordering something he never would have let Louis eat weeks prior. He would have known Louis wanted something greasy but if it had the potential to negatively impact his shapely figure then there’s no way that Duncan would have ordered it for him. A small salad without dressing would have been his perfect choice. Louis is not impressed. He won’t be swayed by a small and quite obviously manipulative act of kindness.

 

Duncan just rolls his eyes and knocks the plate closer to him.

 

“I’ll talk if you eat.”

 

Louis sighs in defeat and then picks up the massive burger, his mouth watering at the sight of the melted cheese and juicy beef. A bit of tomato sauce leaks out onto his fingers as he takes his first precious bite and Duncan’s eyes greedily follow his mouth as he sucks it off. _Fuck_.

 

“Talk,” Louis growls, hoping the sight of mashed up food in his mouth might deter Duncan’s lustful stare.

 

Duncan startles slightly and then nods his head in acquiesce.

 

“Okay. Well I’m just—I’m sorry Louis. You have to know that. I never meant to hurt you. Sash was just…a mistake.”

 

“A two year long mistake?” Louis raises an eyebrow, “If it was such a mistake, why did it take this long for you to realise that? You didn’t seem to think it was a mistake when I walked in on you fucking him?”

 

“I was surprised… you shocked me. You know what I’m like in the ring, when the other guy is more aggressive than I anticipated, I hit out twice as hard. I’m sorry for the way I acted but you have to know, I didn’t mean any of it.”

 

Louis leans forward so he can settle Duncan with the full weight of his ire. He doesn’t know where this courage came from but something tells him it has a lot to do with the past two weeks. Being with Harry has revolutionised his world but it’s entirely beyond what Harry has _given_ him, it’s what Harry has shown him. As much as Louis has suffered in between bouts of happiness, the loss of Duncan hasn’t dragged him down and Louis’ beginning to think nothing and _nobody_ can.

 

“So you didn’t mean it when you said that I can’t satisfy you and that I don’t compare to him? You didn’t mean it when you said our three years together was a waste of your time? Sounded pretty sincere to me.”

 

Duncan reaches out to cover Louis’ white knuckled hand with his own and Louis wrenches his hand away.

 

“Listen to me Louis,” Duncan says softly and it’s too much for Louis to bear.

 

 _That_ tone. The tone Duncan always used to use when he wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, nuzzled his neck and whispered that he _loved_ Louis. Louis shudders, softer memories battering at his resistance.

 

“I’ve been in counselling since the day after you caught me. I know it’s only been a few weeks but I feel so much more like myself. I remember exactly what I saw in you and why I loved you the way I did. I just lost myself Lou.” Louis feels nauseous at the sound of that nickname falling from his lips when it so clearly belongs to Harry, the same way Louis wants to. “Maybe you don’t believe I could have changed so quickly but haven’t you? You’re not the same since I last you and neither am I. _This_ Duncan would never have even _thought_ about cheating on you, let alone hurting you the way I did.”

 

“Beating me up, you mean?”

 

Louis’ fingers are shaking so hard that he has to shove them beneath the table just to hide it, his heart pounding against the inside of his chest. They’re in a public place. Duncan isn’t going to lash out at him here but Louis can’t help the fear building in his chest as he waits for what’s sure to be a brutal response. Duncan reaches out toward him and Louis shrinks back against the booth, shuddering violently as his breath comes out in short gasps.

 

“Louis, no. I wasn’t going to—“Duncan huffs and then he leans over as far as the table will allow, collecting Louis’ cheek in his open palm, “I just wanted to touch you. Like _this_. I wish you weren’t so afraid of me babe.”

 

Louis wants to yell that this is what happens when you kick the living shit out of someone and leave them there to die but the words are stuck in his throat and all that comes out is a terrified little squeak. It’s sick and completely nonsensical but Duncan’s hand on his cheek, warm and soft…it relaxes him. It reminds him of a better time when he didn’t have to fear anybody’s touch, especially that of the man he loves…or loved rather. Louis doesn’t still love him, he can’t. The thought alone fills him with shame.

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Louis croaks, his eyes lowered.

 

“You are,” Duncan insists, massaging his cheek, “and you have every right to be. You’re right, I beat you up. I shouldn’t have. That’s why I went into counselling…to get back to the person I used to be. I don’t know what to tell you Louis but I think about how sorry I am for hurting you every single day and I think that if you just spend more time with me you would see that there’s a difference between the guy that did those awful things to you and the guy sitting right here in front of you now, telling you that he’s sorry and that he wants to make it better. I love you Louis, you know I do and I know that there’s a part of you that still loves me too, even if you don’t want to admit it. We could be good together again Lou. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

 

“A chance?!” A wretched sob is torn from Louis’ chest as he pushes his plate and his tea away in disgust, “You had your chance! You had me, ready and waiting for you to come home every single night for three years and you didn’t want me. You went elsewhere. You never paid any attention to me or what I wanted. It was always about you and I thought that was okay but Harry has showed me so much, he’s given me so much. I know I deserve so much more than you ever gave me. Tell me this before I go, why did you ever fuck somebody else if you really loved me?”

 

Louis is openly crying now and there are people staring, some flashing him sympathetic looks while others simply look disturbed or irritated by his dramatics. Duncan continues to knead at his cheek and Louis doesn’t know why but he leans into Duncan’s hand, letting the softness comfort him while his whole body lifts with each hiccup.

 

“Because I was a stupid, stupid man,” Duncan says with a breathy whisper, his eyes on Louis’ lips, “and I didn’t know what you were worth. I lost sight of it because I was greedy and unhappy with my job. I loved you Louis but I didn’t love the life I was living.”

 

“And that gives you the right to go out and fuck whoever you’d like? To take it out on me?” Louis says with a scathing tone, “To break me in every way possible, physically and mentally destroying me simply because you’re broken inside yourself? I won’t be your punching bag Duncan. You don’t destroy the people you love.”

 

Louis wrenches himself away from the table and quickly strides towards the exit. He ignores Duncan’s calls, rubbing viciously at the tears streaming down from his eyes as he pulls his rolled up sleeves back down so he can curl his fingers in them. The night air is a welcome and refreshing surprise as he breaths in a huge mouthful of it and tries to stop another sob breaking through. This was such a mistake. It didn’t provide closure, not at all. Seeing the traces of remorse in Duncan’s eyes and having his full and undivided attention only hurt Louis worse. His touch was so familiar and even with all that rabid anger burning in his blood, Louis had felt close to him again. It sickens him.

Louis only gets a couple of steps away from the diner before Duncan is tugging on his hand and forcing him up against the wall. There’s only a few people out and about on this particular street, all of them currently walking along on the other side of the dark road. The cars that zoom past aren’t paying any attention to the two figures currently pressed up against a wall appearing as though they’re simply in the midst of a particularly heated snog.

 

Louis opens his mouth to scream but Duncan places a hand over his lips and shakes his head, his eyes stern. Louis’ tears ooze over Duncan’s fingers as he wonders whether Harry is waiting at home for him right now, all excited about their first barebacking experience. Louis doesn’t think he could bear to have anyone even come close to touching him after this.

 

“I’ll let go,” Duncan whispers, “but don’t scream, please.”

 

Louis nods, the corners of his eyes burning. Duncan takes his hand away slowly, as if scared Louis might try to call for help again. He clearly doesn’t see that Louis is too defeated, stripped of any strength or power that he had felt was at his disposal earlier, marching into that diner knowing he was the one holding all the cards. Now he’s too vulnerable and defenceless to even think about defying the huge man towering over his body. He might be able to run faster than Duncan but there’s no opportunity to escape in his current position.

 

“I just want to talk,” Duncan says slowly, as if Louis is some kind of unstable mental patient and doesn’t have any logical reason to fear him, “and you said you would let me. Please. Louis, I’m sorry I haven’t been the kind of boyfriend you deserve but I can’t make up for what I did in the past. I can only promise you that things will be different now. Don’t you remember baby? I used to carry you on my feet to the door, kissing you goodbye for a full twenty minutes before I could bear to tear myself away and leave for work. Don’t you remember when we had sex in the toilets of the cinema because you were so turned on from watching Brad Pitt and I was so turned on by watching you try to resist? Don’t you remember all the nights you fell asleep in my arms and woke up with that sleepy smile on your face, so perfectly content? I remember Louis, do you?”

 

Louis whimpers as his mind is suddenly invaded by those exact images and many more. Jumping up into Duncan’s arms when he came home from work and locking his legs around his boyfriend’s waist, letting Duncan carry him into their bedroom for a quickie before dinner. Laughing at each other’s daggy costumes for Duncan’s 70’s themed work party that first year, only to end up boycotting the whole event and fucking each other senseless instead. Distracting Duncan from cooking by pressing kisses to any part of his body he could reach and then sucking him off until he burned whatever he’d been so carefully making. It doesn’t occur to Louis in that moment that so many of their “special” memories were sexual or physical. It doesn’t occur to him that the emotional connection between them was always tenuous at best. Duncan is stroking the sides of his hair and looking at him with such love, such focus…it takes Louis right back to the beginning.

 

“I love you Louis Tomlinson,” Duncan murmurs, “always have and I always will. I’ll always be the man for you and you know that. It’s why you resisted him so long, isn’t it? Because you loved me. You still do. He might be able to make you happy babe but he doesn’t have those three years of history with you. He doesn’t know you like I do and he won’t stick around like I have. How do you know you’re not just his good time?”

 

Louis sucks in a breath at that and suddenly the words that Duncan’s spouting make so much more sense than anything he’s felt the last few weeks. Hadn’t it seemed positively insane that anybody could fall for him the way Harry seemed to? It was too good to be true. Harry hasn’t dated anyone because he never wanted to be properly bound to anyone who might restrict his freedom. What had Harry said when Louis asked about his lack of dating partners? That he wouldn’t date anyone unless he truly wanted them. He hasn’t exactly asked Louis to be his boyfriend, now has he? And why would Louis, so imperfect when compared with someone as striking, compassionate and gorgeous as Harry, be the first man that Harry Styles really wanted? _Crazy_. Harry never abstained from sex, just everything that could mean anything. Maybe that’s all it is. Just sex. Louis doesn’t doubt for a moment that Harry cares for him, more so than almost anybody he knows but just not in the way Louis wants and in fact needs. Duncan’s right. Harry won’t stick around, not when there’s a million better options than Louis. He’s worth so much more and it hurts. Louis didn’t realise how much he wanted to be Harry’s until this moment, not until he was standing here gasping for air and desperate for somebody with delicate curls and an even more delicate disposition. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

 

Duncan clearly sees the wheels turning in Louis’ mind because he leans in close and whispers his seal of death against the edges of Louis’ lips, his green eyes bearing a faint plea.

 

“I’ve missed you so much.”

 

Louis’ eyelashes flutter just slightly and it’s enough for Duncan. His arms slide around Louis’ waist, hoisting him up against the wall and then his mouth is on Louis’, hot and searching. He licks along Louis’ lips and then groans into Louis’ open mouth as his tongue glides inside. Louis loses himself in the familiar sensation of kissing Duncan, ignoring the excess of saliva or the lack lustre feel of his dry, chapped lips, pressing against his own, too hard. It’s nothing like kissing Harry but— _Harry_. _Oh fuck, Harry_.

 

Louis tears his mouth away with wide eyed shock and a painful stab in his gut. How could he do this to Harry? Even if Harry doesn’t want him for anything more, it doesn’t mean he deserves this. Harry is lovely, _so_ lovely and whatever was happening between them, it meant more than a shag. Louis knows that. Harry deserves so much more, he always has. Tears blur Louis’ eyes as he realises that he’s fucked everything up. He let Duncan get inside his head. What if Duncan’s wrong? What if he did have a chance with Harry but now he’s ruined it completely?

 

“Leave me alone,” Louis sobs, pulling himself out of Duncan’s grip, “please.”

 

Duncan doesn’t bother to call after him or stop him as he runs off and Louis is grateful. He pukes twice on the side of the walkway before he hails a taxi, tears speeding down his cheeks and his shaking hand reaching into his pocket for his phone.

 

“Babe! How are you lovely?”

 

“Tay,” Louis rasps, his tears coming thick and heavy as the taxi driver eyes him in the rear view mirror with a mixture of barely concealed pity and unfettered judgement, “I need a favour.”

 

“Anything,” she swears, loyal to a fault.

 

Louis nods, trying to calm himself as he decides on a new course of action.

 

……..

 

It’s 2 am. Louis is still not back and Harry’s starting to get worried. Even if they went back to Liam’s place or decided to watch a film after dinner, they would still be long done by now. Louis hasn’t responded to any of Harry’s texts either. When he hears the slamming of a door and then the buzz of a TV through the wall, Harry’s heart palpitates in his chest and his pulse quickens. _Duncan_. Duncan’s back. What if he ran into Louis? What if he did something to him? What if Louis-- _no_. Harry can’t let himself think that way. If he lets himself think of the worst possible outcome, he’ll lose it completely.

 

He thinks about marching next door, pounding on the door and demanding to know what happened to Louis but he fears that it will only make things worse and won’t get him anywhere anyway. Instead he figures that if something went wrong, Liam might hopefully be _with_ Louis or at least have some knowledge of where he might be. So Harry dials his number and tries not to focus on the images in his mind of a bruised and beaten Louis being strapped into a gurney.

 

“allo? Why are you calling ‘im at 2 am H?”

 

It’s Zayn and really Harry shouldn’t be surprised. He is, however, disappointed. If Liam is at home with Zayn, that means he’s probably not with Louis and that Louis is still currently MIA.

 

“Just put Liam on please,” Harry says in a clipped tone, too anxious to worry himself with niceties.

 

“Okay, okay,” Zayn lets out a groan as he rolls over in bed and Harry rolls his eyes in response, “babe? _Babe_ , wake up. It’s Harry. Wants to speak to you.”

 

Harry hears the distinct sound of a quiet smooch and Liam murmuring a soft “ _love you_ ” before the phone changes hands. It inspires a brief, soppy smile from Harry.

 

“Hello?” Liam says with a sleep addled tone, “Harry, what’s up?”

 

“Do you know where Louis is?” he asks urgently.

 

“Louis?” Liam sounds confused and Harry can hear sheets rustling as he sits up, “why would I know where Louis is?”

 

Harry doesn’t have time for his sleep confusion. He huffs, annoyed.

 

“You had dinner with him tonight. I thought you might know where he went after. He still hasn’t come home and I’m starting to get worried about him.”

 

There’s a long pause and some frantic whispering in the background that Harry can’t decipher. He rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue as he waits. Liam’s voice is unusually strained when he replies.

 

“Harry….I didn’t have dinner with Louis tonight. I haven’t spoken with him….”

 

As if on cue, the sound of the TV from next door picks up. Harry’s stomach drops and he shudders. _Of course_. Louis must have run into Duncan at some point today, probably when Harry had been with Mrs. Dawson. Duncan must have manipulated Louis into hearing him out. Louis had lied and then gone out to dinner with him, thinking he’d be safe. Harry’s so angry right now that he could happily pulverise Louis’ vanilla slice…with a knife…as he gently scraped it into the bin. He’s so angry that Louis lied to him and went without him. He’s _so_ fucking angry that Louis could be so naïve as to think this was a good move. If he’d just talked to Harry first. _God_. Who knows where he is or how  much of a bad state he’s in and it’s all because of the fucking beast of a man sitting next door, lazily flipping through channels as his ex-boyfriend probably lies dead in a ditch somewhere. _No_ , he can’t be, Harry convinces himself, his head shaking away the awful thought. Still, his eyes prickle and his throat aches as he speaks into the receiver.

 

“He must have been with Duncan. Duncan’s back,” Harry manages to get out, his voice wafer thin, “I think I should go over there. I need to ask him where Louis is. He’ll tell me, won’t he? He’ll have to. I’m not leaving until I know what he’s done with Lou.” Harry feels himself starting to ramble as the pain builds in his chest and tears start to flow hot and unbidden down the curves of his wobbling cheeks, “I’ll make sure he’s safe Li… I will. Won’t let anybody hurt him. I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. My baby, he’s my baby. I’ve gotta go Li, I gotta--“

 

“No, Harry wait!” Liam yells and it shocks Harry back to reality, “please just let me try texting him first. He might be okay. Just--please. Don’t do anything rash.”

 

Harry has no idea what Liam’s getting at. Of course he’s not okay. If Louis were okay, he would be home by now, wrapped in Harry’s arms as he spilled the whole story out and let Harry comfort him with soft presses of his lips and the rhythmic stroking of his hair. Harry would be mad but Louis’ despair would come before any of that. If Louis were here, Harry would hold him close and rock him to sleep, chasing away Louis’ demons with the enclosure of his arms.

 

“Okay,” he consents quietly, anxious to just god damn _leave_ already.

 

He needs to find Louis. He needs to bring him back home safe. God, he should have asked Louis to be his while he had the chance. If something happened to—

 

“He replied,” Liam says slowly and Harry wonders at the complete lack of urgency in his tone and the unnerving traces of awkwardness and dread. If Louis’ okay then why does he sound so-- “He’s at Taylor’s.”

 

Harry recoils with shock, the phone slipping through his fingers and landing on the floor with a dull thud. Today’s events suddenly connect up in his mind like a dot-to-dot of things he wishes weren’t true. Louis ran into Duncan. He didn’t tell Harry and then he lied about having dinner with Liam so he could go see Duncan without Harry knowing. Now he’s gone straight to Taylor’s instead of coming home. He ignored Harry’s texts but obviously had no qualms about replying to Liam. Harry scrabbles to pick up the phone.

 

“Harry? Harry, you there mate?”

 

“Yeah I’m here,” Harry says, his voice choked, “did he say anything else?”

 

“He said to tell you that he’s fine but he’s going to stay with Taylor tonight. He’ll be home tomorrow. Oh and um, he said he wants to talk.”

 

“Shit,” Harry swears, his eyes falling closed as he rubs at his temple, “shit, shit, shit--“

 

“H. It’s me,” Zayn suddenly says, his tone one of pity, “mate, please don’t jump to any conclusions. You don’t know what happened or what Louis might have to say about it. Don’t beat yourself up or like--do anything stupid. Just go to bed, get a good night’s sleep and then you can deal with it all tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, yeah I will. Don’t worry about me Z, I’m fine.”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn snorts, “you sound fine.”

 

Harry smiles sadly as he hears Liam telling him off in the background. “ _Don’t speak to him like that, he’s your best mate,_ ” Liam mutters. “ _Exactly,_ ” Zayn responds, “ _and I’ll speak to him how I want when your best mate’s breaking his heart_.”

 

“ _Don’t blame Louis, you know what he’s been through_!”

 

“ _I do and Harry’s been there for him through all of it and this is how he repays him? By going out with his ex-boyfriend and not even having the decency to tell Harry the truth or let him know he’s alright_.”

 

“ _I’m sure he didn’t mean_ -“

 

“Zayn, put me on speaker. Guys,” he says sharply, “please don’t argue. I completely understand why Louis didn’t tell me,” he does but he’s still livid, “and it’s fine that he didn’t text me.” _It’s not_ , “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t work out,” _he isn’t_. “So will you please just leave us to do that and not let it get between you? Zayn, Louis is your mate now too and whatever has happened or will happen between us, he’s mine as well. I love you guys but just cool it and let me get some sleep.”

 

“Sorry Harry,” Liam calls out.

 

“Yeah sorry mate, we’re being idiots. I know Louis’ been through a lot. I just got my back up for a sec cause you and me are like brothers and I’ve never known you to get this worked up over a guy. I don’t want it to go south.”

 

“It won’t,” Harry promises him, lying through his teeth, “I knew what I was getting into when I kissed him.”

 

He didn’t. He really didn’t. He knew how complicated it could get but he didn’t know how much it would hurt. _God_ , it feels like someone’s punched him in the gut and now he’s permanently winded.

 

“Okay, well call me tomorrow?”

 

“I will. Night Z, night Liam.”

 

“Night,” they both chorus, “love you.”

 

Harry sniffles wetly as he finishes the call. He feels so lucky to have mates like that when things might be about to go to shit. He spends the next ten minutes blowing out candles and eating both vanilla slices, mashing the stupid little strawberry heart between his teeth. When he gets to his bedroom, the pain in his chest only worsens as he blows out the rest of the candles, sweeps the rose petals off the bed and climbs under the sheets, cold and alone. He falls asleep with his thumb desperately stroking over the _HT_ on his hip, trying to convince himself that this isn’t the end of it all before it had even really begun. He determinedly avoids looking at his sock drawer and thinking about what lies inside it. His eyes droop closed, his heart rate far too slow for somebody who’s just fallen head over heels in love. What was it Mrs Dawson had said? _We always came back to each other._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phone sex thing just kind of happened. Was it okay?   
> Thank you so SO much for reading. Sorry for the angsty, sad stuff but only a few chapters to go. Happiness is on its way I swear.   
> Please give feedback or come say hi! xxxx


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I didn't put it in overall warnings cause it's nothing major. But there's some minor non consent (not between Louis and Harry) in this chapter.
> 
> Previous chapter: Louis kissed Duncan. Just a refresher if you need it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot actually believe how long this is. Almost 300, 000 words. It’s crazy and I’m sorry! If you’ve stuck around this long, I am both extremely grateful and very proud of you. I also apologise for making this a WIP and then becoming a shitty updater. But anyway, so this is the last chapter and even though it’s super long, bear in mind that I condensed events that I had planned for a couple of chapters into one. There will be an epilogue which will tie up the loose ends much better so hopefully you stick around for that too. And I’m already planning a new fic so please please stay tuned! THANK YOU AGAIN. All the love, H. (AN: I can say this because my name is Hayley.)
> 
> 1\. In case you’ve committed the worst crime against humanity and have NEVER seen friends (or this episode), here you go. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iU39sqEQOms  
> Otherwise you might think I have a weird crustacean kink. I assure you, I don’t.  
> 2\. Ruin me – the veronicas. Strong – by you know who.  
> 3\. Lots of purposeful and embarrassingly bad references to 1D songs. More friends references.  
> 4\. I really find ending things difficult bc I’m a happy ending kind of gal so I worry that I make things too picturesque but at the same time, I don’t like angst for the sake of angst and I wanted to show Louis’ development into a stronger person so I hope that comes through. There’ll be more room for cohesion in the epilogue but hopefully this is at least a little bit satisfying. Let me know!

Louis’ breath feels strangled in his throat as the elevator dings open and he makes his way over to the door bearing the number six. His mind is completely frazzled and throwing up disconnected images at an alarming pace. It makes his heart trip falteringly in his chest and his eyes shimmer with contained panic. It alternates between deliriously happy images like his mum cuddling him close as a child or Harry entering him for the first time, eyes bright with pleasure and the very worst of his memory. The malice in Duncan’s expression as he laid into Louis and the triumph that floated over his face tonight as Louis’ lips caved to his. Just as Louis reaches Taylor’s door, the images of his beating reign supreme. His body starts to tense spasmodically with the imagined impact, eyes blurring with tears that are as heavy as they are thick.

 

“Taylor,” he calls out to her through the door, too spent to even raise his hand and knock.

 

Taylor wrenches the door open with a look of shock marring her usual cheerful face, her lips devoid of lipstick and parted in abstract horror. She pulls him inside with a little gasp and then her arms are around him, her silky blonde hair tickling the back of his neck as she completely envelops his body. He feels so tiny cloaked in her warmth like this but he can’t find it within himself to resent the fact that she’s tall enough to do this. Not now. She drags them both over to the couch and they collapse against it, Louis tucked up against Taylor’s side as he shudders violently, breaths forming stuttered gasps.

 

“I kissed him, I kissed him, I kissed him,” he’s chanting brokenly.

 

Salty tears ease over his open mouth and pool on the inside of his bottom lip. He doesn’t realise what he’s saying until Taylor pulls back slightly and tilts his chin up with her hand. She grabs a tissue from the nearby coffee table and uses it to clean up his nose, not bothering to wipe the steady stream leaking from his eyes.

 

“You kissed who?” She murmurs softly, eyes thick with concern. “Why are you such a mess babe? Did you kiss Harry?”

 

This makes Louis sob harder, clinging to the front of her soft pink pyjamas that are decorated with a bunch of smiley looking clouds and rainbows. It reminds Louis of a pair of pyjamas Lottie used to wear when she was a bit younger. A pair that he shamelessly stole every time she slept over at a friend’s house. They look soft and familiar so Louis buries his head in Taylor’s stomach, clinging to her helplessly.

 

He doesn’t want to fall to pieces this way, not because of his own mistakes but he can’t help the wave of pain rising up from beneath. Maybe the truth is that he really hadn’t confronted all the hurt he’d suffered until now. He’d felt it right down to his bones but he hadn’t truly drawn back to look at it and understand how deeply it was etched into his soul. Now he understands.  Duncan has ruined him, over and over and over again and Louis has let him. Continues to let him. Only it’s worse now because now he’s ruining Harry too, ruining their happiness and everything that they might have had together.

 

“No. I mean, yes,” Louis’ voice rasps, completely worn out from crying. He tilts his head back to look at her, “but that wasn’t a mistake. This was a mistake Tay. God, this was such a bad mistake.”

 

“You kissed Harry though?” Taylor pushes and Louis nods, a sudden lump forming in his throat as he realises he never even got around to sharing the good news with her. “And it wasn’t a mistake?”

 

“No,” Louis half whines, “Of course it wasn’t. I was so happy, you have no idea. But you warned me, I know you warned me. It’s just… I didn’t _mean_ to. I wasn’t trying to escape him. I didn’t _want_ to hurt him, I just--“

 

“Got scared?” Taylor prompts, folding her fingers through his hair just right. “It’s okay babe. I warned you because I didn’t want you to wind up with any more scars than the ones you already sustained from the arsehole of the century…but I also _know_ you Louis. I knew it was unlikely you’d be dissuaded simply because of my reservations. Once those feelings form, trying not to feel them is like trying to put the genie back in the bottle…it can’t be done.”

 

“I didn’t have to act on them,” Louis says, playing with Taylor’s hand and rolling his head around her stomach to encourage further hair stroking. “I should have waited. Until I was ready…or like, until I was sure. God, I don’t want to lose him. He’s so wonderful.”

 

Louis’ eyes are closed now in defeat and he can feel his throat aching with renewed sadness. How can he wake up tomorrow and go over to Harry’s-- to _their_ place, knowing the most beautiful thing that’s ever been his might be about to shatter into a million pieces? How can he be happy without plump lips opening up against his and shimmering green eyes following his every move?

 

“You still haven’t told me what you did babe.”

 

“I kissed Duncan,” Louis moans, turning to bury the sound in her jumper, “and for a second, it felt like it could be exactly what I needed. I’m so--”

 

“Louis, you absolute twat,” Taylor pulls him up off her lap and holds tight to his biceps, staring down at him with blatant frustration.

 

Louis is too distraught to even _think_ about commending her for her Britishism.

 

“I know, I know. I stopped it. I did… but it was already done you know? There’s no taking it back.”

 

“What were you thinking?” Taylor implores, shaking him a little, “No, you know what? I know what you were thinking. You were doing exactly as I predicted, running away from the feelings you were too afraid to confront. Breaking two hearts in one.”

 

Louis has never felt more wretched.

 

“No I wasn’t! I was thinking…I was thinking that guys like Harry don’t fall in love with guys like me. I was thinking that best case scenario, I’m Harry’s little project and a close friend and worst case scenario, I’m just his good time. Duncan was just familiar, you know so I thought for just a second that maybe if I couldn’t have the new life that I’d been making with Harry then maybe the only answer was to reach back for the old one. It was ridiculous, I know. I couldn’t even _kiss_ him without tasting Harry.”

 

“You didn’t come to that conclusion all on your own, did you? The conclusion that you were just Harry’s good time?”

 

Taylor’s pale blue eyes are sharp, her expression severe.

 

“Not exactly….”

 

“I’m going to kill that ass wipe!”

 

“I knew he was manipulating me…I think but somehow it still rang true. All I could think was that Duncan, _not_ Harry, stuck around for three years, even if he was off fucking someone else for two thirds of it. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wish I could take it back.” Louis’ body starts to heave, his cheeks wobbling. “Because I just want to go home and see him. I sleep so well with him Tay, he makes me feel so safe.”

 

“Oh Lou bear,” Taylor’s palms frame his cheeks as she rises up on to her haunches and plants a soft kiss on his nose. “You’re a mess babe. I’d say you could sleep in with me but Calvin’s here tonight. Are you going to be alright out here on your own? We could spoon?”

 

Louis chuckles wetly, tears still sliding down the outsides of his cheeks.

 

“I don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate it.”

 

“Oh come off it, he knows you’re about as straight as a jheri curl!”

 

That makes Louis laugh further, wiping at his eyes as he pulls his best friend into a tight squeeze of a hug.

 

“Thank you for letting me stay here,” he says into her lavender scented hair.

 

“You’re welcome,” she pulls back, pressing a kiss to the side of his hair, “I’m always here for you. You made a mistake. Officially I’m _very_ ticked off and disappointed in you for doing that to lovely Harry but between you and me, you could do a lot worse and I’d still be on your side Louis Tomlinson. Don’t look so sullen babe, it’s not over yet. You’re going to get a good night’s sleep and then you’re going to go over there first thing tomorrow and explain. Apologise. Do whatever you have to do to get that curly darling heart back where it belongs….in the palm of your hand.”

 

Louis’ smile is watery as he takes the blanket and pillow she extends to him.

 

“I love you. I’m so glad you support us so much. It’s nice to have a cheerleader.”

 

Taylor winks at him and at the same time they lean forward, teeth flashing as their eyes light up.

 

“She’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers,” they sing in a harmonious whisper.

 

Louis grins and Taylor ruffles his hair, leaving him to his own devices with a wave and an air blown kiss. Louis pretends to catch it and then clutches it to his chest, fainting back against the pillow. He’s still quietly grinning when Taylor’s door clicks shut and silence falls around him. It takes about two minutes for the grin to fade and the solemnity to return. He tosses and turns for two hours, needing bulky arms slung around his waist and curls tickling the back of his neck. He misses Harry in a soul sucking, bone crushingly deep kind of way. He’s never missed anybody so much before. It occurs to him that if he can’t make things right with Harry, then this feeling will all be knows. That unsettling thought is the last one he has before he drifts into a restless, achingly lonely slumber.

 

…….

 

Harry wakes to the sound of someone pounding desperately on his door. He rolls over in his sheets, emitting a frustrated groan and then quietly, or not so quietly, cursing his early morning visitor. His alarm clock tells him it’s 6 am. Who on earth is attempting to beat down his door at 6 am? His eyes fall on the candles and the crumpled rose petals scattered haphazardly around the floor. _Louis_. His heart seizes in his chest and he scrunches his eyes closed, trying to keep the pain at bay. It really doesn’t help all that much. Louis lied to him for god knows what reason and nothing hurts more than the radio silence he’d been forced to suffer when all he had wanted to do was make Louis smile. All he had wanted was to romance Louis again and to make him feel special, to see those stunning eyelashes flutter with rising pleasure as Harry moved inside of him. No such luck.

 

Now it seems that the fate of his almost relationship has come a calling and Harry’s not sure he’s prepared to face it. It’s 6 am in the morning. When is he ever ready to have his heart trampled on…let alone at 6 in the morning? It’s so early that even his dick is stuck at half-mast. Yet the pounding continues, reverberating throughout the entire flat and Harry knows he couldn’t ignore it even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He slides out of bed and shucks on some black joggers and a soft grey jumper, rubbing at his sleep encrusted eyes as he trudges towards the dreaded doorway.  He opens up the door and immediately finds himself with an armful of boy.

 

“Harry! I’m-so-sorry-but-I-couldn’t-wait-any-longer-to-talk-to-you-and-I-haven’t-slept-all-night-and-I—“

 

It all comes out as one rapid fire sentence and Harry has to fight not to inhale because Louis’ hair is soft smelling like vanilla essence and Harry has only a modicum of self-control. Louis’ eyes are bright, too bright really and red where they should be white. He’s jittery, like he’s had too much caffeine and yet he feels all soft and cuddly in Harry’s arms. Like a teddy bear. It would be only too easy for Harry to hoist him up onto his waist and carry him to bed for some early morning spooning. He has to control himself. Somehow.

 

Louis cuts his own run-on sentence off, looking perplexed and then heartbreakingly sad, jittery fingers reaching up to trace Harry’s puffy eyelids.

 

“Have you been crying Haz?”

 

Harry can’t be vulnerable now. Not with no clue as to whether Louis is about to destroy them. He smiles gently and rubs at his eyes.

 

“No, I’m just a bit tired Lou. It’s 6 in the morning.”

 

The nickname just slips out but Louis’ eyes light up with hope. Harry’s heart gives a giant tug and all he wants is to slide his mouth over Louis’ and kiss away every last trace of doubt. He knows he can’t. There is more to falling in love than sacrificing yourself for the person you love and Harry feels that deeply in this moment. There’s more to him than his saviour complex and he would bend his heart every which way to accommodate the smaller, slightly more fragile one inside Louis’ chest…but he can’t. He can’t break his own heart. He won’t. Not even for Louis.

 

“Oh. You’re right,” Louis smacks a hand to his forehead, his eyelashes fanning out as he smiles timidly at Harry’s toes. “I’m sorry.”

 

It’s undeniably endearing and whatever Harry found himself thinking just now, he now finds himself hoping the opposite. Hoping that he won’t have to break his own heart. Hoping that he can look after himself _and_ Louis at the same time.

 

“No I’m glad,” Harry assures him, squeezing the inside of his elbow, Louis’ jumper bunching beneath his fingers, “I’m glad you came to talk to me. I didn’t like not hearing your voice last night.”

 

Harry shouldn’t have said that. He really shouldn’t. Louis’ eyes are misting up. He looks every bit the broken blue eyed fairy, his mouth wobbling at the edges as he lets out the tiniest self-contained hiccup. Harry takes a small step back. If he remains where he is, there is no way he won’t sweep Louis up into his arms and carry him to bed.

 

“Lou?” He asks with a plaintive tone, battling with the voice in his head that says he really shouldn’t be asking.

 

“How much do you know?” Louis asks with a hoarse tone, just a slither of sorrowful blue peeking out from beneath the dark of his lashes. “About what happened last night…how much did you figure out?”

 

Harry tries keep his voice level, reminding himself that just because Louis lied, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t a valid explanation. The fact that Louis would risk his safety like that for someone who hurt him in the way Duncan did, it’s borderline torture but Harry has always been more understanding than most. More accepting. If Louis had certain matters to settle with his ex then Harry can try to come to terms with that. He can forgive Louis for being dishonest.

 

“I know you must have run into Duncan yesterday when I was with Mrs. Dawson and he probably manipulated you into meeting up with him again. Or maybe you wanted to,” Louis flinches, “…maybe it was both. Then you lied to me about seeing Liam and went to see Duncan instead. Something went wrong with Duncan, something obviously shook you up and that something sent you running into Taylor’s arms instead of mine. Where you belong.”

 

There are tears trickling down the smooth tan of Louis’ cheeks and his hand is shaking as he reaches out to wrap it around Harry’s, twining their fingers together. Harry needs to pull away but there’s a broken plea in Louis’ deep blue that won’t be denied. Harry cannot bring himself to do it. Especially when beyond all logic, Louis’ touch is what comforts him, preparing him for the inevitable pain to be inflicted. His love for this man is sheer lunacy. Harry rubs at the outside of Louis’ thumb anyway, watching the older man crumble before him.

 

“Why did you lie to me Lou?” Harry says on a keening whine. “Why didn’t you just tell me where you were going?”  


Louis suctions their hands together with a tight squeeze. A shudder rolls over his body when he meets Harry’s mournful gaze.

 

“I don’t know,” he says hopelessly, “I was afraid that you would stop me? Or. I thought that I could do it on my own, that I needed to do it on my own. Telling you just felt…wrong,” Louis admits with a tiny sob, “like you wouldn’t accept it. Or understand me wanting to see him. I just thought I could talk it out with him, get my answers and then come home to you. I even…I changed my mind. I wasn’t going to go but he caught me, he reminded me that I promised to hear him out and I knew I had to. I had to know why he did it…why I was never good enough.”

 

Harry’s heart is splintering in his chest because here is this boy who has completely obliterated any sense of trust between them with one foul swoop. He’s destroyed Harry’s hope that they’d reached a stage where they could battle Louis’ insecurities together. Yet still Harry’s heart cries out just to be with him, to embrace him and kiss him….to just make it all better. Louis is still dealing with all of his demons and how can Harry condemn him for not always coming out on top? Especially when it all boils down to a desire to be strong for himself and tackle his problems head on. He’s brave. Stupidly so and Harry would never condone Louis going out on his own like that without precautions but this isn’t a direct hit to Harry’s heart. This is just an incidental graze.

 

“Sweetheart,” Harry scoops Louis’ wobbling cheeks up in his fingers, gazing deeply into Louis’ watery blue, “I wish you could see how strong you’ve become. I wish you hadn’t gone without telling me, that you’d at least told me where you were but Lou, you did something for _yourself_. You rose up to face the biggest demon of all and you survived the encounter. I wish you hadn’t lied baby and if you ever put yourself in jeopardy like that again, we’ll have a much sterner talk but I can’t just--I can’t be mad at you for this. For wanting to unshackle yourself from your past. I’m so…so proud.”

 

Louis’ face crumples and he lets out a shaky, drawn out sob. Harry only sees what he wants to see. He only sees relief. He lurches forward, tilting his face down to meet Louis’ and sucking desperately at Louis’ upper lip. Louis’ hands close around his biceps and his short, square nails dig in. His little tongue licks over Harry’s mouth in a delicious circle and Harry opens up for him immediately, shuddering with pleasure as Louis’ tongue traces over his own. He tastes like a caramel latte and his whole torso is quivering where it’s pushed up against Harry’s. Harry has never needed him more. His hands drop down to bunch in the back of Louis’ jumper and he pulls, panting into Louis’ mouth and slipping a thigh in between his legs. Louis grinds down hard against him, moaning wantonly and tugging at the backs of Harry’s curls. Harry breaks the kiss to look into his eyes and capture this stunning moment with his memory. Yet Louis stumbles backward, mouth agape.

 

“Louis?”

 

His voice sounds completely wrecked.

 

“I can’t,” Louis whines, “I can’t kiss you and not be honest. Harry, I--“

 

Harry’s heart stops, his breath quickening as he looks into the raw pain breaking over Louis’ expression.

 

“I kissed Duncan. Or—he kissed me like. But I kissed him back. Harry, I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Louis moves towards him, arms outstretched with tears coursing over his olive cheeks. Harry can’t. He feels like he’s just been sucker punched and he can’t touch Louis right now. Not when his mouth tastes like the bitter taste of betrayal. His heavy heart feels like a dead, dull weight in his chest. Completely flaccid. He doesn’t even realise he’s stumbling away from Louis until his feet hit the edge of the couch and he goes tumbling over the arm, landing with his back against the cushions. Louis leans down to help him but Harry snatches his hand away, ignoring the wounded puppy look with all his might.

 

“Please, can you go?” Harry asks.

 

He hates the way it comes out, a hitch of his breath mixed in with a whine. It sounds like he’s begging for a reprieve.

 

“I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Louis sobs, wiping at his endless stream of tears, “because you know how I feel. You know how I feel when I’m with you. He manipulated me…made me think that there was no way you would ever stay with me. I was so scared. I just…I wanted you to stay.”

 

Louis sounds like the toddler whose dad just left his mum. He sounds like that lost little kid that doesn’t understand why the world is falling apart around him and what he did to deserve it. Harry wants to understand and maybe he does but this is no innocent graze. This is a direct hit, a wound gaping open. It’s about more than just Louis’ lips touching Duncan’s. It’s about the effort Harry put into earning Louis’ trust, into proving his worth to him and giving him a glimpse at how different his life could be. It pains Harry that while he was contemplating their future, Louis was not only out making other plans but throwing away everything they’d worked on together. Fear is not a good enough excuse and Harry can’t be the one to pick up the pieces of Louis’ heart. Not when he’s got his own pieces to gather. The fact that Louis even let their lips touch while he was harbouring this secret fills Harry with animosity. It’s bolstered by a sick sense that this is the best thing that could have ever happened to him gone wrong.

 

“And I _would_ have stayed Louis. If you had just believed in me enough to trust that. Or believed in yourself. I do understand. I get why it happened and why maybe it doesn’t mean anything more than a mistake now….but at the time, it did. It meant something. At the time you saw a way out through your past and in the safety of a relationship that was already doomed to fail. I can’t be a part of that. I cannot be with somebody who’s not 100% in this with me. If you don’t believe me when I tell you how I feel, well then there’s not much I can do. You need to figure out what you want Louis and more than that, you need to decide whether you can risk it.”

 

“Risk what?” Louis sniffs.

 

“Yourself. Your heart. There is a chance that we won’t work out. Not because I think I’ll ever want to leave you, I won’t but because nobody can make an iron clad promise that certain circumstances won’t affect a relationship. That’s a given, you know that,” Louis nods along, “but that’s not your true fear, is it? Your true fear is that I won’t want you for more than the honeymoon phase. That I’ll lose interest. Like Duncan. There’s only one way for us to do this Louis. You have to come to terms with what you went through without me and realise that it’s separate from the challenges you’d face with me. The challenges we’d face together. You have to risk the fact that you might end up broken again, not in the same way…but broken nonetheless and you have to trust yourself to know the difference.”

 

“Harry, I want you,” Louis steps forward and his hands close around the edges of Harry’s thighs, holding tight. “I want everything you just said. I want to risk it with you and to face those challenges with you. I just….I want you.”

 

Louis’ voice loses any power over the last word and he looks up at Harry with defeat looming in his eyes.  The inner turmoil is visceral. Louis might know what he wants but he doesn’t believe in it yet. He hasn’t cut that cord with Duncan and he can’t because as long as it’s there, there’s a way out.

 

“I need you to figure it out,” Harry links his fingers with Louis’ and squeezes before letting go, “because I don’t want the remaining half Lou. I don’t want his leftovers. And I don’t want you in this with me when you believe it’s some kind of glass tower about to shatter at your feet.”

 

“W-what are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying…” Harry breathes out heavily and shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to face the disturbing amount of hurt breaking over Louis’ face. “I don’t want you to stay here right now. I don’t want to see you. I need space. If you decide…” Harry coughs to hide a shaky breath, “if you decide that I’m not what you want, then I’ll accept that. We’ll move on and be friends. But right now…”

 

“You can’t bear to look at me,” Louis fills in, his tone completely hollow.

 

“You hurt me,” Harry says, cracking his eyes open and biting down on his bottom lip as it starts to tremble. Louis’ eyes track the movement. “I just need time. You need it too.”

 

Louis doesn’t say anything else. Silently, he gathers some clothes and a few of his things and then sends Harry an awkward half wave and a wobbly, teary eyed smile before closing the door behind him. The silence in the flat is deafening. When Harry makes it back to bed, he realises why Louis’ quiet sniffles had turned into sobs when he’d entered their room…er, Harry’s room. The dilapidated rose petals are still scattered across the floor and there’s just the faintest hint of the candles he’d lit the night before in the air. The lube, with no condom beside it, stands tall and proud on his bedside table as though mocking them for the missed opportunity. Harry collapses into bed with a heavy sigh and then buries his head in Louis’ pillow, soaking up his scent and grieving the loss of him already. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him that Louis’ not coming back to him.

 

……

 

Louis drags his feet as he walks toward an undistinguished point. The sky has begun to darken and just when he thinks he couldn’t feel any more hopeless, the heavens open. A downpour cascades over his hair and shoulders, drenching him completely. His socks squelch disgustingly in his shoes and there’s a steady stream of water dripping off his once feathered fringe. He eventually decides to take refuge under a newspaper stand selling tea and coffee.

 

Once he’s collected his tea, he stands off to the side perusing the assorted newspapers and magazines, trying not to think about how much he misses Harry already. _Space Louis_ , he tells himself, _space and time_. The kicker is that he really doesn’t want to give Harry space and time. He knows what he wants. It’s lying in that flat, all alone, probably brainstorming creative ways to ensure his demise. Or not. It is Harry after all. But Louis knows. Yes he’s terrified as hell and maybe there’s a jagged piece of Duncan still severing the corner of his heart but it’s not his undoing. It can’t be because it doesn’t affect how he feels. It doesn’t affect the want in his veins, the longing stretching out his aching throat and the warmth he feels with Harry by his side…the warmth he feels when he’s tucked in Harry’s arms. He knows what he wants.

 

“That’s him!”

 

“No it’s not! Look at him. Does he look like a model to you?”

 

“They’re not models Jessie, god. Didn’t you read it? It’s supposed to be everyday guys.”

 

“Why would I read it? It’s for men! I only bought it so I could ogle _his_ bum.”

 

“Exactly. Look at his bum. _Exact_ same curve. Do you think he has implants?”

 

At this point, Louis is more than a little confused but there’s a hint of amusement too. He welcomes it gladly. He throws his head back over his shoulder and meets the appraising looks of two blonde girls in tight school uniforms, both unashamedly ogling his arse. Louis could take offence or slip quite easily into self-consciousness but instead, his amusement persists.

 

“Can I help you?” He asks, as much superiority in his voice as he can manage when his nose is streaming, his clothes are plastered to his skin and his eyes are unmistakably puffy from crying.

 

Both girls look up, their shocked expressions quickly shifting to horror. The slightly curvier one begins to retreat, pulling her friend back with her. Louis just grins and sticks out a slightly damp hand.

 

“Louis Tomlinson. Owner of the completely natural bum that you’ve been caught ogling. ”

 

The skinnier girl giggles and then places her tiny hand in his.

 

“Hello, I’m Jessie.” She winks at him and giggles again, “I’m completely legal.”

 

Louis blinks back at her, dumbstruck and then quickly retracts his hand.

 

“And I’m completely gay love,” he says with a kind smile. Jessie’s face falls. “I’m flattered but ah, maybe you should stick to guys who are more your type. For instance, those closer to your age who _aren’t_ complete strangers.”

 

The slightly taller girl squeezes Jessie’s shoulder, rolling her eyes. Jessie blushes while Tall Girl offers Louis a hand.

 

“Laura,” she introduces herself, “don’t mind Jess. She’s a bit empty headed at the best of times. Sometimes I think she’s half girl, half _turnip_.”

 

Louis snorts, to his own immediate horror and is about to apologise when Jessie and Laura both turn to each other, smiles wide. They perform a series of actions Louis recognises well.

 

“Big fish, little fish, cardboard box,” they chant, laughing as they turn back to Louis.

 

“Angus, thongs and perfect snogging?” He asks with a grin.

 

They nod, clearly excited by his chick flick knowledge.

 

“So….” Laura sends him a sweeping look. Louis blushes slightly. “Are you?”

 

Louis shakes his head, his nose crinkled with confusion.

 

“Am I what?”

 

“Are you him?” She asks, a hint of impatience colouring her tone.

 

“Who?”

 

Laura sighs, rolling her eyes as she thrusts a magazine in his face.

 

“Him,” she says fiercely, “the guy on the front cover. You look exactly like him. Same eyes, same bum. _Oh my god_ ,” she squeals, “Jessie _look_. He has the same tattoo. It’s _definitely_ him.”

 

Laura and Jessie might be jumping up and down and clapping like seals. Louis’ not entirely sure. He’s not looking at them. He’s looking at…himself. On the front cover of GQ. With his bum pushed out in a borderline pornographic pose and his hair swooped back over his head in a smooth quiff. His eyes are sparkling blue, coloured by equal amounts of mischief, embarrassment and boredom. That image only occupies half the page though.

 

The other is taken up by an image of him laughing, his head thrown back in mirth, his muscles straining around his throat. His eyelashes are downcast, curly and long, even without the use of mascara while his cheeks look endearingly puffy, small little bulges of rosy pink that highlight his entirely authentic joy. The whiteness of his teeth shows, contrasting with his honeyed skin and he looks kind of… luminous. Even on this shit show of a day, standing in one of the dirtier parts of London with rain streaming down around him and the smell of grease in the air, Louis sees it. Standing here alone, contemplating how on earth to survive his time away from the man he calls home, he can feel it.

 

There’s a light shining out from the picture and it’s not the flash of the camera, or the addition of highlights in the edited photograph. It’s not even the stunning gift Harry has, capturing the most elegant, intimate angles and giving them true character. It’s _him_. It’s this man he forgot he could be and the person he’s become, all since knowing Harry. It’s an irreducible, uncontainable sense of life and it’s all in the way he laughs. Louis knows exactly what Harry’s camera captured that day. Without awareness and without any intention. He knows he himself was completely oblivious to it at the time. He’s not anymore. Now he drags his finger over the curve of his own cheek, studying the contented crinkles around his eyes.

 

“You were falling in love Louis Tomlinson,” he whispers, “you were falling so fast, you couldn’t catch your breath.”

 

……. 

 

The texts come in twenty minutes after Louis departs.

 

Louis: **I saw it.**

Louis: **Some girls came up to me and showed me. I know how these things work Harry. You never got my permission ?**

Louis: **I’m not angry. You knew I’d say no, yeah? You wanted to show me something. Everything. And you succeeded Haz. It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.**

Louis: **I don’t know how to give you space but I’ll try. I’m so sorry for hurting you x**

Harry’s trampled heart twists in his chest because it’s exactly as he’d hoped, exactly what he’d wanted. Not just for the world to recognise how seriously fit Louis is but for Louis to look into his reflection and see it himself. And the last text? It makes Harry want to call him up right now and order him back so they can snuggle down into the sheets, listening to the rain and telling each other more stupid stories from their childhoods. He can’t. Louis’ sorry, he’s hurting but nothing has changed. He might regret the kiss but that’s not the same as knowing he’d never do the same again.

 

Harry feels awfully queasy and heartbroken but he’s always been a gluttony for punishment so he does the worst thing imaginable anyway. He opens his bedside drawer and grabs the recording device from inside, placing it on the pillow beside him. He rewinds until the noise turns soft and husky. The taste of scotch or like lemon drizzled over hot pancakes. It’s ridiculous but it’s exactly what Louis sounds like to Harry. He presses play and hunkers down into his bed, letting his eyes slip closed as he listens to their first proper conversation.

 

_“Full name?”_

_“Louis William Tomlinson.”_

_“William, I like it.”_

_“And your middle name?”_

_“This is your interview, not mine.”_

Harry can hear the complete bewilderment in his own tone. He hadn’t expected Louis to show any interest in him. God, he’d never expected to wind up here. He can easily recall the way that Louis had fluttered his long eyelashes as he spoke again…

_“So I’m not allowed to ask you any questions?”_

_“If I knew this was going to be this difficult, I’d have asked Niall.”_

_“Why didn’t you?”_

_“I-I wanted someone who…who wasn’t really aware of it.”_

_“Aware of what?”_

_“Someone who’s not aware of how captivating they can be. How breathtaking they are.”_

Harry drifts off to the sound of Louis’ voice rising and falling in predictably soft cadences interspersed with the sounds of his own deeper, melodic tone. He stirs a bit towards the end and shudders at the foreboding of his own softly uttered sentence.

_“I think we’re done.”_

……..

Harry hasn’t heard from Louis in two days which is absolutely fine. He asked for space and it’s exactly what they both need. The fact that he has no bloody clue where Louis’ head is at right now or how he’s coping with the separation is just dandy. Harry’s fairly certain that he hasn’t been to see Duncan, at least not in the building and not while Harry’s been here. He’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He hates the thought of Louis being within 100 metres of that shit for brains arsehole and he prays that Louis wouldn’t go to see him without telling anybody again. Still, he knows that if there’s any chance of them moving forward then Louis has to do whatever it takes to put the past behind him. There’s definitely no way around at least talking to the guy. When Harry is on his way out the following day, he manages to drop his keys and very nearly his camera too.

“Excuse me,” he calls out, his tone a little squeaky, “who are you?”

The man in the dark blue suit shepherding two beefy looking blokes into Duncan’s flat (and Louis’…but Harry doesn’t like to consciously acknowledge that part) looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. His hair is slicked back with a serious amount of product, enough to rival Zayn’s intricate routine and his eyes are a similar shade to Louis’. It’s a different kind of blue, less leaves-Harry-breathless and more makes-his-chest-hurt-because-of-the-resemblance. It’s still enough to disarm him.

“I would be the one in charge of renting this flat out. Is that going to be a problem sir?”

The guy’s smile twists around the word ‘sir’ as if he finds the title particularly amusing as it applies or doesn’t apply to Harry. Harry’s aware that the cheesy Hawaiian shirt, ripped jeans and multi-coloured lei don’t exactly spell “distinguished gentleman.” Still, it’s not his fault that he’d been invited to take photos at a Hawaiian themed baby shower where it was costume _not_ optional. (Honestly, who has a theme for their baby shower?! Isn’t the automatic theme just “baby?”)

“Um no,” Harry coughs, suddenly embarrassed, “I was just wondering about the ah, previous tenant,” _Bum Face. Tosser. Wanker. Absolute knob._ “Duncan. Moved out, did he?”

“Clearly,” the guy arches his eyebrows even higher and Harry’s face must be about the shade of a tomato. “His roommate came past just an hour ago to collect the rest of his things.”

“Louis? Louis was here?”

Harry’s fully aware that he sounds more than a touch desperate. He’s not sure why he needs to clarify or what the confirmation of Louis’ presence will mean to him but he has to know. Maybe it’s because the thought of Louis hesitating on his way out and debating whether he should knock on Harry’s door fills him with a kind of longing and maddening ache that only Louis Tomlinson could inspire. Maybe it’s equally because the thought that he didn’t stop, that he marched right by without even thinking about Harry, is just as heart wrenching.

“Louis, is it?” Arrogance in a Suit looks amused, “I take it you had a wee bit of a crush on your voluptuous neighbour? Can see why. Didn’t stay long, you know. Jumped every time he heard a noise and then scurried out the door like someone was chasing ‘im.”

Harry’s face tenses all over as he thinks about how afraid Louis must have been, knowing he might run into Duncan and be forced to confront him. Forced to confront his own lingering emotions. The fact that Louis ran like a bat out of hell probably doesn’t bode well for him and Harry. If Louis can’t face the ordeal he’s been through then there’s just no hope that they can have a lasting future. Harry sighs and waves the guy off, letting him know he’s done grilling him for information. His heart feels entirely too heavy as he gets in his car and he can’t help himself from doing it. He gets out his phone and sends off a quick, hopefully blunt text, promising himself that he won’t check for a response until later and that equally if he finds one, he won’t respond again.

Harry: _I saw the flat. Hope you’re okay. H._

…….

Louis is steadily making his way through a pint of rapidly melting, rocky road ice cream when his phone buzzes on the table. He manages to drop the spoon behind the couch and smash his ankle up against the underside of the table in his race to retrieve it. Zayn hides a snigger behind his cushion. Louis shoots him a glare.

Harry: _I saw the flat. Hope you’re okay. H._

Louis doesn’t realise his jumper clothed hand is clawing at his chest until he looks up to find Zayn watching with a quizzical expression. Louis’ eyes well up a little and he flushes at the unwanted attention.

“He texted me,” he says quietly, “Harry,” he clarifies for no good reason.

Zayn nods, all brusque and businesslike, as if afraid to offer anything more intimate to the guy who essentially cheated on his best friend. Which is, you know, fair enough. From the moment Louis had turned up, soaking wet and completely bone weary at Liam’s door, Zayn had been standoffish, cold and verging on cruel. He’d argued with Liam for ten straight minutes about covering Louis with a blanket and then about Liam offering up his couch as a place to stay. Liam had yanked the blanket out of Zayn’s hands, settled it over Louis’ trembling body and then bent down to smooth his wet fringe back from his forehead.

“You can stay and let me take care of him or you can go. Up to you. Either way _he’s_ staying for as long as he needs. Got it?”

Louis was quite proud of Liam’s balls. He hadn’t known that they were made of such steel until that moment. He also felt deeply and torturously guilty. He didn’t want to come between two of his best mates, even if one of them probably hated him. Zayn had sunk down onto the couch and lifted Louis’ feet into his lap while Liam sat down on the other side, arranging Louis’ head against his chest and stroking through his hair with careful hands.

“I don’t deserve this,” Louis had croaked.

“You don’t,” Zayn agreed, before Liam had the chance to argue, “but you’re a mess. Harry wouldn’t forgive me if he knew I’d left Li to take care of you alone.”

That had only made Louis’ tears return. He started hiccupping in rapid succession, crying until it felt like he could barely breathe. Zayn had to go grab him some water while Liam rubbed his back. Louis didn’t even know why he was so devastated. He’d fucked up, sure but all he had to do was prove to Harry that he was in it for the long haul and everything would be fine. He didn’t understand why it suddenly felt like such a monumental, unachievable task?

“Good,” Zayn breaks Louis’ stupor with a harsh grunt and then apparently thinks better of it as he reaches over the table to pat at Louis’ bare foot.

Louis spares him a grateful smile in return.

“You said you didn’t see Duncan?” Zayn asks, “He didn’t try and intercept you?”

Louis shakes his head, looking forlornly down at the mushy ice cream as he tries to wrap his head around the whole thing.

“He texted me to tell me about moving but he said he wouldn’t be there. Then he gave me a new address and said he’d only contact me if I contacted him first. Wants it to be on my terms.”

Zayn raises a perplexed eyebrow and then his expression darkens. Louis curls in on himself, expecting Zayn’s wrath and preparing to tell him that he hasn’t replied and wasn’t planning on it. Except suddenly he’s wrapped up in fierce hug as Zayn growls into the back of his shoulder. Louis’ arms are completely pinned but he rests his cheek on Zayn’s collar bone.

“That fucker is trying to manipulate you again. Don’t listen to him Lou. Leave him well alone.”

Louis pulls back from the hug with moisture fogging up the corners of his eyes. God, he’s cried a lot this week.

“I will,” he says meekly, looking up at Zayn’s eyes with wonder, “do you forgive me Z? I only want him you know… I only want Harry.”

Louis shivers at the thought that Harry might not ever want him back after what he’s done. If he only fucking knew how to change Harry’s mind. If he could only turn back time. _Fucking Cher_. Zayn rubs at the sides of his arms and then cups Louis’ cheeks in his hands.

“I know little Lou. You’ve confused yourself into a major fuck up but you’re no cheat. Harry’s your lobster.”

Louis whacks at Zayn’s arm, the corners of his mouth lifting as he fights hard to maintain a glare.

“I’m. Not. Little,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone softening slightly in response to the Friends reference, “but he is my lobster.”

Zayn smirks at him and then pats his hair, ducking as Louis goes for his head. All in all, it’s not the worst day of his Harry-induced exile.

 

……..

 

“You’re supposed to eat it mate. You know like, first you insert the spoon into the chocolatey goodness gathering a decent spoonful of that sweet, sweet heaven and then you raise it up to your mouth and then you re-insert the spoon because you haven’t quite got enough and then--“

“Niall,” Harry barks sharply, making the bottle blonde jump, “I don’t need a play-by-play of the way you eat cake.”

Niall looks a little too much like a disgruntled toddler, pouting at Harry with smears of chocolate circling his mouth.

“Well why are you not eating?” he mumbles in that slightly moody, you-never-yell-at-me-what’s-up-your-bum tone.

Harry sighs and lets the spoon clink against the bowl, placing it on his coffee table before offering Niall his napkin. Niall grins, already completely over it and then manages to smear the chocolate further instead of wiping it off. Harry deigns not to mention it. He actually looks quite rugged with a chocolate moustache.

“Because you brought me death by chocolate,” Harry says, as though it should be obvious.

“And?”

“And it makes me sick. It’s _Louis_. And I can’t--“

“Louis makes you sick?”

Niall looks downright baffled, scratching at his chin and then frowning when his hand comes away dirty. Harry smothers an amused chuckle.

“No, you plonker. The opposite. But when I first met him, I kept thinking…he’s exactly like death by chocolate. Sugary sweet, you know. Like he’s silky at first, melts in your mouth, just pure--“

“Okay I don’t need a play-by-play of your sex life.”

Harry snorts and then continues.

“Pure sin. You honestly can’t think of anything more delicious. There’s nothing more precious and perfect than that slice of the dessert you’ve been craving all your life,” Niall raises an intrigued eyebrow at that but Harry ignores it, “and yet it can only last so long. Soon enough it’s turning your stomach and weighing you down, the sight of it pure pain. You’ve had too much and it’s really not as sweet as it looked. At the time, I was thinking of Louis’ worse half and how Louis was completely unattainable. How it would turn into a complication I didn’t need but now…”

“Now you’re thinking about how Louis’ everything you need but still complicated as fuck?”

Niall hits the nail straight on the head and manages to look downright miserable doing it. His usually animated blue eyes are full of deep pity.

“He’ll work it out mate. He will. Like, you didn’t see the look in his eyes when he spent forty minutes gazing at pictures of you on Zayn’s phone.”

Harry’s head snaps up from where he’d been eyeing a rip in his jeans.

“He did that?” His voice sounds hoarse, “why?”

“Why do you think?” Niall cocks his head to one side, a true grin filling his features, “he couldn’t get enough. Even then. His face was like pure adulation. I made a crack about him checking out Zayn and he pretty much bit my head off for even _thinking_ he’d be attracted to Zayn over you.”

One half of Harry’s mouth swoops up. He can only imagine the pretty blush of Louis’ cheeks and his bashful little grin.

“I miss him,” Harry says suddenly, “I miss him all the time.”

It’s been three days. Not even as long as Harry might have to suffer his absence if Louis were to go stay with his family for a week. Still, this is different. This separation feels like being torn in two because if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know if it will end at all. He doesn’t know whether Louis’ thought much about him since he left or why he didn’t reply to his text yesterday. He doesn’t know how Louis’ doing and it’s killing him. Harry needs the smaller man back in his life but for all that he’s laid down the law, it’s not within his power. It’s up to Louis to find his way back to him. To find his way home, Harry thinks, with an embarrassingly slow pump of his heart.

“I know H,” Niall squeezes his knee, “and I’m telling ya he feels the same.”

“Have you seen him?” Harry asks desperately, leaning too far into Niall’s space, “I know he’s at Liam’s but I’m too scared to ask either of the boys. They’ll judge me. What kind of person tells someone to give them space and then can’t even hack it themselves?”

Niall’s eyes turn soft as he pets at Harry’s hair.

“The kind with a huge fucking heart Haz, that’s who. And no, I haven’t. But I know Harry. I promise you. And I promise if I go by there, I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I leave.”

Harry smiles at him, more than a little relieved.

……

“I can’t tell Harry about this,” Niall says, plopping himself down beside Louis, “Because he’ll castrate me. Or worse, stop making me food.”

Louis raises an eyebrow and shuffles backward on the couch to allow Niall some more room.

“Tell Harry about what?”

“What I’m about to say to you. What Zayn would have said if he didn’t have a Liam to hold him back.”

Louis suddenly doesn’t feel so relaxed. He’d mistakenly been cheerful when he’d opened up Liam’s door to find Niall bouncing up and down, an antsy expression on his face and something like determination glowing in his eyes.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Louis asks, a touch curt, protecting himself against what’s sure to be a vicious verbal assault.

“Next gig’s not till Friday. Which you’re coming to by the way,” Niall says with a misleadingly delighted smile.

What is going on? This kid must have bipolar. Either that or he’s completely confused about whether to be mad at Louis or not.

“So…are you going to get on with it or—“

“Harry needs you to settle things with Duncan. Once and for all. Tell him to fuck off or—you know, something that achieves the same result. Like, without the risk of a beating.” Louis flinches and Niall’s smile falters. He apologises, “sorry, you know what I mean. Anyway, Harry would never have told you that himself and he definitely wouldn’t let me. He wants you to work it all out on your own but I know you aren’t that smart and need a little Irish help. I know how you feel Lou Lou so I’m not worried about giving you a helping hand or pushing you in the right direction.”

Louis’ gaping a little.

“You…you’re actually—but you said you were saying what Zayn would say if—“

“Oh right,” Niall suddenly slaps a hand to his forehead and then his expression turns to stone, the light disappearing from his eyes as he digs his fingers into Louis’ bicep. “I told you to be fucking careful with my best mate, didn’t I? You were completely oblivious, told me you’d never do a thing to hurt him but I knew, even then. You were too confused. Now I’m not above slapping you in the balls or shaving that pretty head of yours for kissing other blokes so you just better watch yourself Tomlinson. If you hurt my main man crush again, I will look for you…I will find you….” A slither of white shows as Niall’s mouth turns up in a grin, “and I will kill you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis shudders a little, “you fucking scared the shit out of me.”

“Good,” Niall beams like the precious little leprechaun he is. Louis only wishes he were pre-warned that Niall’s extremely good at playing the polar opposite. “Cause I mean every word. Even if I do love your curvy Tomlinson arse.”

Louis’ heart is racing from the adrenaline of the last five minutes but he places a hand over his chest in mock offence.

“I think you’ve offended my southern sensibilities Sir.”

It’s an embarrassing attempt at a southern American twang so Louis flutters his feminine looking eyelashes to make up for it.

Niall snorts and punches him in the shoulder.

“As if you have any.”

Louis gasps again and they both dissolve into cackles. Louis is kind of the luckiest fuck up in Britain.

“So,” he says when they finally return to a level of calm, “you think I need to confront him? Duncan?”

“I think you need to confront them both,” Niall says wisely, “and I’ve got the perfect time and place. Come to the gig. I’ll let you have the stage for a bit and a certain Mr. Harry Styles might just be blissfully ignorant about the fact that you’ll be there, ready to declare your undying love. But as for Duncan? That’s up to you. He can come to the gig but he’s not staying and if he even lays one finger--“

“He won’t touch Harry.” Louis assures him, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Niall gives him a bewildered look and then grips his shoulder.

“I meant you. If he lays one finger on you, I’m going Dark Niall on his arse.”

Louis is undeniably touched. It lingers for a beat and then they both crack up laughing, tears smarting in Louis’ eyes as he holds tight to his stomach.

“Dark Niall,” he echoes with a snort, “mate, you couldn’t even maintain it for the entirety of that speech just now.”

“Well if there’s anybody I’d go dark to protect, it’s got to be Harry’s Mrs.”

Louis can only respond by slapping him in the balls.

…….

Louis remembers the first three shots and the last three. What he doesn’t remember is all the fruity drinks and other shots that must have been consumed in between. All he knows is that his head is buzzing and it feels awfully heavy, like if he didn’t have it in this weird circle shaped hole, it might have detached itself from his neck and fallen to the ground. As is, he thinks it’s a very good idea to clasp his hands behind his neck and hold on just in case.

“You right mate? You’re not going to vomit are you? I‘m almost done.”

Almost done with what? Louis wants to ask. And no he’s not going to vomit, thank you very much. His lips do feel thick and unusable, incapable of parting for speech but with the next press of the sharp object, he remembers where he is. Some kind of club. Doing…wait what is he doing? All illusion of calm is ruined when a door creaks open and Louis lifts his heavy head up to spy a pair of wide panicked blue eyes and a messy blonde head.

“What are you doing to him?” Blondie shouts, his mouth twisted into a hateful grimace. It looks all wrong on sunshine’s face. Louis tries to demonstrate a smile for him but it feels more like a misshapen pout. “He’s barely conscious you arsehole.”

“He asked for it man. Demanded, even. It’s not like I’m bloody taking advantage so get off my back. I‘m done anyway.”

Louis feels something soft being stuck to his lower back and he hums at the nice sensation. Then his shirt is being roughly yanked back down and blondie is wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him off the metal table.

“You are such a nuisance Tommo,” he whispers in Louis’ ear, shuffling along at the pace of a snail. “ _Seriously_? Maybe I’d fucking move faster than a snail if I weren’t carrying _your_ dead weight on me feet.”

“Tiny little blondie feet,” Louis hums, reaching back to pat Niall’s hip, “Irish feet.”

Niall. That’s right. His mate. _Harry’s_ mate.

“Yes you’re mate,” Niall agrees and then plonks him down on the edge of the sidewalk. Louis’ legs collapse like they’re completely devoid of bones. He doesn’t remember the journey through the club but he supposes they must have made it out here somehow. “But you’re a fucking twit. We came out to get drunk and have a good time _together_. You weren’t supposed to run off on your own and never return.  Scared the crap out of me, you shit.”

“I needed the loo,” Louis pouts up at him, blinking more times than necessary. His eyelashes feel _so_ nice against his cheeks. “Lou Lou,” he giggles into his cupped fingers, “my name is Lou Lou.”

Niall sighs, sounding wearied. Louis wonders why. He decides that tying Niall’s shoes together might help. Niall’s not paying attention because he’s dialling a number on his phone.

……

Harry’s phone starts singing out Barbie girl at 3 in the morning and Harry wants to kill his best mate. Behead him. Take away his food and couch privileges for at least a month. He picks up anyway, spitting his own curls out of his mouth and blinking rapidly in an attempt to get his eyes open.

“What do you want Niall?”

“Need a lift home,” Niall grunts and then his voice trails away from the phone. “Did you really just tie my shoelaces together you little shit? _Oi_ , stop that. No mate, please don’t lie down on the sidewalk. It’s dirty as fuck round here.”

“Why?” Harry groans, sitting up fully and flicking on the lamp, “why can’t you just get a taxi?”

“Because I don’t think my _friend_ here would survive the trip without vomiting. I really don’t fancy paying the excess cab fare just because he can’t hold his liquor. Jesus Christ, give me a sec, he’s crawling towards the road.”

After some indistinguishable shouting and the sounds of a struggle, Niall comes back.

“He needs you Haz.”

“Who needs me?” Harry says with steel in his tone.

He already knows the answer. He’s already got his keys in his hand and his jeans pulled up over his briefs.

“Louis.”

“Niall, you know I can’t—“Harry tries to argue.

“C’mon mate, I know he won’t remember this tomorrow. He’s actually naming your curls one by one. Did you know the really springy one by your ear looks like an Earl?”

“Why did you get him this drunk Ni?” Harry growls.

“I didn’t! He got himself drunk. Overestimated himself or like—“

“Of course he did,” Harry groans, “never wants to admit how fucking tiny he is.”

“Yeah well your tiny boy just vomited all over my new shoes so if you could just come and retrieve your precious lightweight, I’d really appreciate it.”

“He’s not my—“

Niall has already hung up on him.

Harry quickly finger combs his curls, for what reason he’s not sure and then rushes downstairs, almost sustaining a nasty fall in the process. He drives slightly faster than the speed limit to the strip of bars and clubs that Niall usually frequents. He finds Louis lying with his head in Niall’s lap at the very last one. He sighs, already feeling homesick for the blued eyed boy and then jumps out the car, keys in hand.

“Harreee,” Louis squeals as Harry bends down in front of him, stroking his sweat soaked fringe. “Harreee I’m sorry.”

He pouts at Harry, bottom lip protruding. Harry can see that the inside of it is stained blue from cocktails. Louis’ excitable blue eyes dim to wide pots of sadness, drooping further and further the longer he looks at Harry. Harry loves him. Harry loves him so much that it swells up in his throat and blocks off his speech.

“I know love,” he says eventually, sounding choked, “let’s just get you home.”

Harry looks up at Niall who appears to be a lot less annoyed than he sounded on the phone. His fingers are in Louis’ hair and there’s a hint of concern in the downward tilt of his eyebrows. Then Louis starts making plane noises. Or trying anyway. It’s mostly a lot of spitting and giggling in between. Either way it makes Niall’s face light up and he ruffles Louis’ hair, laughing when Louis tilts his head back and makes a plane noise right at him.

“He’s kinda cute like this,” Niall concedes with a chuckle. “….Except for when he’s vomiting on me shoes.”

He’s adorable actually. Harry doesn’t say that. Instead he gently wraps his hands around Louis’ neck and tilts his head back up so he doesn’t choke on his vomit or spit. Louis looks slightly miffed at this development but then he starts patting at Harry’s face and giggling all over again.

“He has really soft cheeks Ni Ni,” he says, “like clouds. Dimple clouds.”

It’s complete nonsense but Niall, ever the champion nods very seriously when Louis turns back to him. The way you do when your child’s just learning to speak.

“He does Lou. Now Mr. Dimple Clouds is going to take you home? That okay with you mate?”

Niall smiles at Louis, steadying him with a hand to the waist when he starts to topple over. Harry does the exact same thing on the other side.

“Yeah,” Louis bobs his head enthusiastically, “but you gotta tell him.”

“Tell me what darling?”

Harry figures he’s dug a deep enough hole already. He can only hope Niall’s right and that Louis won’t remember a moment of this tomorrow. Louis ignores him, instead choosing to launch himself back into Niall’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck tight and then turning to face Harry. Niall only _just_ catches him.

“Tell him he has to put a condom on if he wants to put it in me. Cos my tummy is too little to carry a big curly baby,” Louis pats Niall’s cheek, expression panicked. “Tell him Ni Ni.”

Niall dissolves into laughter, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and rocking him slightly. He points at Harry.

“You are going to have the time of your life tucking him in.”

Harry passes a hand over his forehead and groans at the thought.

“Lou, c’mon,” he reaches out a hand for Louis who grabs it and then tugs, “we gotta go babe.”

“My name is Lewis,” Louis corrects him, “not Lou.”

Harry looks to Niall who shrugs and then lifts Louis up, gently passing him over to Harry like an oversized football. A really wriggly, drunken football.

“You’re name is Louis love.”

“No, no,” Louis shakes his head vigorously and then tucks Harry’s hand into his back pocket. Harry quickly removes it. “My name is Lewis. The guy in the dance-y room told me.”

“What guy?” Harry _might_ be speaking through his teeth as he looks back at Niall.

Niall looks like he might ever so slowly be backing away.

“He was dancing with some guy for a bit.”

Harry’s eyes blur and his grip on Louis’ hand tightens. He realises he has no claim but god damn it, this is _not_ what he thought Louis would be doing when he asked him to figure himself out. Niall catches the look on Harry’s face and immediately comes to Louis’ rescue.

“No no H, it wasn’t like that. They weren’t like—dirty dancing. Louis was just showing him all these really lame moves and stuff. And anyway, the guy fucked off as soon as Louis slipped and starting moaning about you.”

“Really?”

Niall hits his shoulder and then backs away again.

“Really. Now get him home mate, he looks about two seconds away from falling asleep in your arms.”

Harry hadn’t really noticed the way he’d instinctively curled an arm around Louis’ shoulders, pulling him into his chest. Louis looks like he might already be asleep with the way his hand is loosely clinging to Harry’s jumper, his eyelids hanging heavy over his eyes. Still, when Harry starts to move him, they creak open and he looks up at Harry with a disturbing amount of sadness.

“My name is Lewis.”

Harry chuckles and then lifts him into the car by the waist. He has to fight Louis’ hands and ignore his breathless giggles of “tickles Hazzy” as he does up the seatbelt. Then he cups Louis’ cheek and looks down at him with a serious amount of concern.

“You’re name is Louis sweetheart. Don’t talk to sleazy boys when you’re not in your right mind.”

Louis nods slowly as though taking Harry’s every word in and turning it over in his mind. Harry can only hope. He gets in on the other side of the car and then turns the keys, looking over to find that Louis’ eyes have already slipped shut again.

……

“Will you stay? Please stay Hairy. I mean….Hareee. Pleeeeease.”

“Shh Lou, you’ll wake up Liam…..and Zayn. Here just….” Harry rolls Louis up into his arms, holding him against his chest as he walks through the flat. “Let me put you to bed.”

Louis frowns at him, eyes full of sorrow.

“I don’t have a bed Hazzy. I have a couch.”

Harry should not have to deal with this. He is not prepared to fight against this level of cuteness when it’s four in the morning and he’s missed Louis for days. He kisses Louis’ cheek which makes Louis giggle and playfully tug at his curls. Harry thinks he hears him murmur “Earl the Curl.”

“I’ll take you to your couch baby.”

Harry gently places Louis on the couch and then straddles him, keeping his weight off of Louis’ waist. Louis looks up at him with wide, luminous eyes that shine in the light from the VCR.

“Are we going to make a baby?”

“No,” Harry chuckles, untucking Louis’ shirt from his trousers, “no Lou, I’m just going to get you out of your clothes so you can sleep better.”

“Sleep better with you,” Louis grumbles, squirming beneath Harry and almost throwing him sideways off the couch, “only sleep well with you.”

Harry feels a strong pull in his chest at Louis’ words but he’s completely intoxicated and has no idea what he’s saying. Harry’s never known whether to believe it when people say that alcohol makes people honest. He has to concentrate anyway because it’s a lot like trying to stay put on a rodeo bull. Harry really can’t afford to fall sideways and knock himself out on Liam’s table.

“Sweetheart, can you just let me get your jeans off at least? Then you can go to sleep.” Harry pushes the hair away from his face, “I promise.”

Louis stills and falls weirdly silent. Harry takes advantage, scooting back on his legs to unbutton his jeans and then backing up even further to pull them off. They’re obscenely tight and Harry hates the thought that Louis might have ended up at dance-y guy’s place, doing god knows what, without enough wits to think about protection or to say no if he didn’t want to. Harry thinks about trying to get Louis’ shirt off too, knowing the buttons will probably dig into him if he turns over onto his stomach in his sleep. Louis beats him to it, wrestling the thing off with an impressively quick manoeuvre and chucking it clear across the other side of the room. Liam might not be very happy about that. Louis looks very happy though, snuggling into his pillow as Harry pulls a blanket over him and then giggling when his fringe tickles the side of his nose.

“I’m going to go.”

Louis turns back to him with a wounded look and a furrowed brow.

“But I miss you.”

Harry’s eyes are misting up. He leans down and cups Louis’ cheeks, kissing the very tip of his nose.

“I miss you too.”

“Stay,” Louis pleads, his voice cracking, “you’ll stay, won’t you?”

His eyelids look incredibly heavy, eyelashes fluttering at the kind of pace they do when he’s about to fall asleep. Harry makes an executive decision.

“Of course I’ll stay.”

Louis won’t know the difference. He smiles serenely and pats Harry’s thigh.

“Will we have eggs in the morning Hazza? You can kiss me after I brush my teeth.”

Harry’s response is a wobbly smile and the choked reassurance he can’t help but give.

“Course baby. And I’d kiss you either way.”

Harry presses a soft open mouthed kiss to the edge of Louis’ jaw, savouring the taste of sweet, milky skin underneath the slightly putrid scent of alcohol. Louis is already quietly snoring when Harry pulls back.

“Come back to me Louis,” Harry whispers, tugging the blanket up tighter around Louis’ shoulders, “because I’m only waiting on your return.”

Harry wishes it weren’t true because he’s got no idea whether it’s possible for them. He’s not at all certain that _Louis_ is certain of what they could be to each other. He only knows that he belongs to Louis in a way he’s never belonged to anybody else before him. It means that however he may choose to portray himself, Louis’ inevitably and always got Harry wrapped around his little finger. Maybe he really doesn’t mind all that much.

…..

Louis wakes to a thumping headache and a pool of saliva spreading over his cheek. He shudders at the gross sensation and then lifts his head from the pillow. His shirt is slung over the side of the TV, his jeans neatly folded on the ground and there’s a tall glass of water and two Advil just calling his name from the coffee table. There’s also a note. Louis takes the Advil, chugs the water and then picks up the note.

_If you ever wake up, please use the spray when you inevitably vomit your guts up. Then text us both to let us know you’re still alive. The water and the Advil was not us so you might want to shoot Nialler a thank you text._

_L and Z x_

_P.s When we tried to rouse you for breakfast, you swung out at us and started moaning about a big curly baby. Take the proper amount of time to be embarrassed about this._

Louis groans loudly but has to stop because his head hurts too much. He rips the note to shreds and then takes another long pull of water to soothe his aching throat. His head feels like a tonne of bricks and his stomach doesn’t feel so crash hot either. Still, Louis’ never be one to shirk his responsibilities. Much. He retrieves his phone from the pocket of his jeans and dials Niall’s number.

“Hello?”

“Did I drink the whole bar or just half?” Louis moans.

“Well I drank one half and you drank the other,” Niall provides helpfully.

“And you feel?”

“Like I could go again in a few hours, after me gig of course.”

“I. Hate. You. Or not. You did look after me. Thanks for taking me home Nialler.”

“No worries,” Niall sounds weirdly gruff as he coughs and continues. “So are you going to take my advice and confess your undying love to Harold tonight?”

Louis groans anew at the thought of drama. Harry and Duncan. In the same place. With him. It’s far too much like a clichéd love triangle and he doesn’t want any part of it. Except he does. It’s been almost a week since he gazed into doe like green eyes and kissed that soft rose tinted mouth. He’s done spending time away from the only thing that makes him feel even remotely safe.

“Yes,” he says belatedly, “but if he doesn’t stick around long enough to hear you sing, it’s not my fault. Or it is. But I’ll apologise to you after I’ve chased him down the street like a proper lovesick fool.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end and then an abrupt escalation of noise.

“LOUIS TOMLINSON.”

Louis whines and rips the phone away from his ear, his head violently protesting the indecent amount of noise.

“What is wrong with you? I’m hungover. Can’t you speak at a respectable volume?”

“I respectably request that you answer me truthfully when I ask you this,” Louis holds his breath, “…are you proper in love with my Harold then? Like, you want to have his babies and fuck him until you’re old and shrivelled and all dried up like a date? Actually, I’m already certain you want to have his babies but—“

“You’re disgusting,” Louis interrupts with a grin.

Would he like to suck kisses into Harry’s perfect thighs every night for the next fifty years and finger comb through his curls when they’re running late for their little boy’s piano recital? Would he like to curl up in Harry’s lap when he’s tired and moody and doesn’t want anything to do with anyone but his boyfriend? Would he like to have morning sex with the sunshine radiating down over his back as he rides Harry up against the headboard, Harry looking up at him with stunning green eyed wonder? Would he like ice cream kisses with sticky, sweet lips and cold, pliant tongues? Or minty kisses after they’ve just brushed their teeth? Kisses where Harry hoists him up onto the bathroom counter, moving into the space created by his legs and then runs his hands up and down Louis’ thighs? Would he like slow, soapy shower sex, his head thrown back in ecstasy as water courses over them both and Harry’s hips circle his, driving himself in deeper and nailing Louis’ special spot every time? Would he like Harry’s hands covering his, his lips pressed to the spot just behind the shell of Louis’ ear as he teaches him how to cook? Would he like to tenderly brush his fingers over Harry’s thick eyelids and his adorable frog mouth as Harry slept on? Left wondering about the dreams he might be having and whether they included him too?  Yes. _Fuck yes_.

“Yes I’m in love with him,” Louis reveals with quiet certainty.

At the same time, he lurches up off the couch and travels to the bathroom. He ignores Niall as he natters on about what he and Harry should name their kids and what area they should move to when they decide to settle down. Louis bends over to grab his toothbrush from the pot beside the sink and as he does, a white bandage comes into view.

“Niall,” he gasps, “did I injure my back last night?”

“Erhm, about that…”

“Niall,” Louis warns, “don’t you dare avoid the question. What did I do?”

“You kinda got a tattoo. Except not kinda.”

“I what?! Please tell me you’re joking. What did I get a tattoo of?”

“I don’t know mate. The guy was already done by the time I got there and then I forgot about the whole thing because I was too busy calling your—“

Niall cuts himself off abruptly.

“Calling my what?”

“Calling your drunk arse a taxi,” Niall says with only a moment’s hesitation.

Louis lets it go. He’s got bigger problems to worry about. As he peels back the bandage and reads what’s written there, he whines long and low.

“Tommo?”

“I have a tramp stamp. I have a tramp stamp that reads: “ _If lost, please return to Harry Styles_.” And then I’ve got his number around the curve of me pants.”

Niall starts to laugh, louder than Louis’ ever heard him. It sounds like a cross between a honking goose and a dying seal. Five minutes in, Louis just hangs up. He’s completely fucked. Never has he been more confused about whether he wants to get naked with Harry Styles.

……

“Those jeans…really?”

Louis steps out of them immediately and turns around to face Zayn in a pair of very tight navy briefs that leave…well, nothing to the imagination. When he sees the other three boys appraising him, he’s tempted to cover up his bare chest but these are his mates. They’re not potential suitors and even if they were, Louis’ more body happy than he’s ever been. Today he ate a huge chocolate muffin after lunch…guilt free and though he’d let Liam drag him to the gym after, he hadn’t gone too hard or too long. Not that he ever was the type to _successfully_ work himself to the bone. Still, the old Louis would never have been able to walk away from the gym laughing and singing Disney songs in weird voices. He would have been burdened by the weight of Duncan’s disapproval. It used to follow him the whole way home, making him feel hot around his stomach, his hips and all the places where he knew he could stand to lose a little weight. Not anymore.

“Happy now?” Louis snaps, planting his hands on his hips and quirking a challenging eyebrow at Zayn, “I guess I’ll just go like this.”

“Mate, Harry isn’t going to care what you’re wearing when you tell him you love him.” Liam must sense the angry heat from Zayn’s stare because he sneaks his hand into the dark haired lad’s back pocket, “but um, let Z work his magic.”

Niall points at Louis’ chest with a salacious smirk.

“I’m sure Harry isn’t going to care if you wear nothing at all.”

“A naked Tommo is a perfect Tommo,” Louis plays along, answering him with a grin.

“Hmm yes but what might poor Harold think of your newest body art? Might catch him a tad off guard, don’t you think?” Zayn contends, the liquid hazel of his eyes brimming with humour.

Liam sniggers into Zayn’s shoulder and then stalks his way over to Louis, eyes alight. Louis backs away, his arms raised in defence. Liam lets out a battle cry and grabs him by the waist, throwing him over his shoulder.

“Lima James Payne. Get your hands off me ass right now,” Louis growls, his biting northern accent breaking through.

Liam chortles but lowers his hands to Louis’ thighs anyway. Louis wriggles against him, trying to escape but Zayn’s cold hands form manacles around his ankles and Niall holds his arms down too. They throw him onto Liam’s bed, face down and then Liam sits on the backs of his knees while Zayn and Niall hold him down to stop him from turning over. Louis hates his friends so much. If anyone walked in on them right now, Louis’ pretty sure they’d be phoning the police.

“Look at it,” Niall cackles, “If lost—“

Louis’ hand shoots through Zayn’s grip and smacks Niall straight in the balls. Niall groans and falls forward.

“Please return to Harry Styles,” Zayn finishes, absently petting at Niall’s hair.

“I still can’t believe it,” Liam pats his hip, “what were you thinking you twat?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I was fucking plastered. Now can you get off me you great big lump?”

Liam jumps off and Zayn releases his hands. Louis sits up and glares at them all one by one.

“Now that we’ve re-read my shameful tattoo for the _fifth_ time, can we please get on with this? At this rate Harry’s going to turn up and none of us are going to be there.”

“You’ll just have to chase him down the street,” Zayn sings, annoyingly sarcastic.

“Or call his name and flash him your tramp stamp,” Niall adds, avoiding Louis’ ill-timed swings.

“Liam, don’t you fucking d--“

“Or wander the streets until someone takes pity on you and calls _your_ Harry to come get you. Poor baby Lou.”

Liam ruffles his hair and Louis decides he’s feeling rather inclined towards murder. Thankfully Zayn decides enough is enough. He yanks Louis up off the bed and drags him over to the closet, filled with various fashion forward outfits all in his size.

“You can’t just wear your same old jeans with the same old marginally tight—“

“Marginally tight?” Louis exclaims. ”What the fuck would you call skin tight then?”

Zayn continues as if Louis hadn’t spoken.

“—fit. You have to dress up for the occasion Louis. Which is why I stole,” the boys gape at him, “ahem, borrowed…these clothes for you.”

Louis is still gaping.

“What? I was at a shoot where the girl in charge of wardrobe, I’d call her a stylist but I really don’t think she’s earned that title, had no discernible clue about what size I was. She ordered nearly an entire wardrobe in every size.”

“So you stole from her?” Liam asks with a furrowed brow.

“Borrowed. I’ll take it back tomorrow. As long as Louis doesn’t destroy anything, we’re good. Just be careful little Lou. ”

Louis rolls his eyes. Like he would destroy Zayn’s precious clothes and—

“You fucker! Why does there seem to be such a preoccupation with my size? I’m. Not. Little.”

“Your arse isn’t,” Zayn smirks at him and Liam hits him across the back of his head. “But I saw your socks in the wash the other day. Went and asked Li why he didn’t tell me we’d adopted an infant.”

Niall snorts, only sniggering louder when Louis’ head snaps towards him, teeth bared.

“That’s true Tommo,” Liam says with a chortle, “he honest to god thought I was hiding a baby from him.”

“I hate you both.”

“You won’t hate me when I’m done making you pretty.”

Liam jabs Zayn in the side.

“Prettier,” Zayn corrects with a simpering smile.

Louis rolls his eyes and wonders why he ended up friends with three total douche bags.

…..

Louis ended up in a pair of white jeans that are so inescapably tight, he swears his dick is never going to recover. On the plus side his arse was made for these jeans. But still. On top, he’s wearing a three quarter length grey scoop neck with black braces. He’d fought them at first, not at all sure that they’d suit his sense of style. Yet once he put them on he knew they were the exact kind of classic, stylistic detail that Harry would love. Weirdly enough, he loved himself in them almost just as much. Zayn had sprayed him with both a little bit too much cologne and a little bit too much hairspray and his fringe was a lot stiffer than usual at first. Yet now it’s softened up. He figures he looks the part when he walks into the pub and notices at least three different guys checking him out. One of them is Duncan.

Louis can’t spot Harry anywhere yet so he allows himself to drift over towards Duncan’s table, looking down at his feet in order to avoid the intense and frankly, intrusive stare he can feel being directed his way. When he sits down he immediately feels exposed and uncomfortable because of it. Duncan’s eyes rove over the dark ink unfurling across his chest and then trail over his braces. They fall to the slight curve of his stomach beneath the tight shirt and the bulge of his hips. Louis automatically sucks in, his confidence quickly receding but then something kicks in. It’s a voice that sounds suspiciously like Harry. Louis lets his stomach go and bravely meets Duncan’s eyes.

“I have some things you need to know and I’m sorry for the fanfare but if you want to know them, you’ll stick around for it. To hear the truth.”

Duncan leans forward, his expression predatory. He curls a hand around Louis’ neck and squeezes. Louis’ breath stops out of complete terror. How could he have thought for even a moment that being with Duncan meant anything but misery and fear? How could he have thought that he belonged with someone like this over someone like Harry?

“I’ll stay,” Duncan confirms, tilting his head to meet Louis’ unsettled gaze. Louis can feel three pairs of eyes boring into his back and it makes him feel slightly safer. “You look good babe,” Duncan tucks his finger under one of Louis’ braces and then tugs a little, “I like this.”

 _Not for you_ , Louis growls inside.

“And I just hope that you know how different your life would have been without me.”

Duncan smiles at him as though he couldn’t have said anything more persuasive than this. It’s clear in the smug set of his mouth and the cruel spark of his eyes that he thinks that this will be the final straw. Louis will break under the manipulation and come running back. Maybe Louis would have once. Maybe he would have just a week ago when he was still reeling from the shock of Duncan’s return,unable to discern his proper feelings for Harry. Not anymore. Louis is head over heels for one Harry Styles and one Harry Styles only.

“You’re right,” Louis agrees, mouth twitching as he gets up from the table, “my life would have been very different without you Duncan.”

Duncan trails a finger down the side of Louis’ brace and Louis fights off a shudder. He’ll get his chance to really be honest with Duncan very soon but that time is not now. Besides which, tonight is really not about Duncan. It’s not even about Louis and the choice he’s making. It’s about Harry and how much that man deserves to hear what Louis’ been holding back from the moment he started to fall for him. When Louis turns around to head back to the boys, he spies the back of a familiar curly head and falters. _Harry_. His stomach dips and his feet try to pull him in Harry’s direction. _Fuck_. It’s time.

……..

Louis’ hiding. Or not hiding. He’s just casually standing behind the wall separating the entrance to the toilets from the rest of the pub. ….Okay, so he’s hiding but when he started to walk toward the boys, Niall had waved his hand like a spastic, motioning for him to back off. Louis pouted but obeyed. Now it’s been fifteen minutes and it’s almost time. The tech guys have been setting up the mic stand and testing the volume for the last few minutes and Louis is so nervous and jittery, he can barely stand it. By the time the stagehands move off to the side, he’s about ready to do a running jump.

Just as he appears from behind the wall and starts his confident strut towards the stage, Niall appears from nowhere and pushes him right back to where he came from, ignoring his baleful glare and whines of protest.

“What do you think you’re doing you fucking Irish potato?”

Niall raises an eyebrow and grips his shirt, holding on to keep Louis from getting around him.

“Irish potato? Nerves make you downright awful at insults.”

“I’m not nervous,” Louis pushes Niall in the chest but he barely moves an inch. “I just want to get the fuck up there. Now stop holding onto me and let me do this.”

“I will,” Niall nods, “but you can’t right now. Harry’s…Harry’s going to sing first.”

Louis’ eyes bug out of his head and he grabs Niall by the shoulders, shaking him a little.

“What? Why? What’s he going to sing?”

Niall’s expression is pained as he clamps down on Louis’ shoulder and frowns at him, eyes full of pity.

“You might not want to stick around for this Lou. Maybe just duck into the toilets for a bit.”

“Why?” Louis’ vocal cords are swollen and _that_ is not going to help with his performance. He doesn’t care. “Is he—why are you looking at me like that?”

Just then the sounds of quiet guitar fills Louis’ ears.

“Because he said it might be therapeutic. Might help him deal with how he’s feeling.”

Louis breath comes out in a whistle like noise and he grips Niall’s wrist.

“How is he feeling Ni?”

“He’s just…” Niall shrugs and then his mouth twist down at the side, “you’ll see. You’ll—you’ll make it better.”

Louis can already tell that he’s about to lose it. If Harry’s going to sing about being hurt and heartbroken, Louis won’t be able to contain the lump in his throat any longer. Not to mention the running jump. Niall pats him on the shoulder and then steps out from behind the wall, hurrying back to his seat. Louis cannot stop himself from peeking around the corner. Harry’s in tight black trousers decorated with a white floral pattern. It’s completely stunning in its controversial femininity. He’s teamed it with a matching headscarf and a tight grey t-shirt that shows off his huge biceps and sinewy looking forearms. He’s got that familiar looking sea green scarf draped around his neck and a collection of gaudy rings dotted over his fingers. He’s gorgeous, effortlessly so and Louis’ fingers twitch with an ungovernable urge to touch.

It only gets worse when Harry looks up from the mic and starts to sing, his face painted in waves of sorrow and hurt that come crashing down over Louis’ head like some kind of apocalyptic tsunami. Smothering him with an unbelievable sense of unrivalled pain. It’s not even the guilt or the rising sense of urgency in the pit of his stomach. It’s the way Harry’s face tenses over each new word, his biceps tensing too, as if every muscle and tendon were caught in the tailspin of Louis’ mistake. It’s the way his eyes flicker open so very briefly and when they do, just a smidgeon of mottled green pokes out, looking for all the world like his soul might be trapped behind. It’s the way he mouths over the mic, so close that he might be kissing it if he were to just tighten his lips. That’s not even to mention the song, Shirtsleeves by Ed Sheeran and the way it sounds in Harry’s deep, melodic voice. Every syllable is slower than the last. Heavier than the last. Building towards an emotional crescendo Louis’ not sure he’ll survive.

The worst part is perhaps the latent promise beneath the sense of betrayal. The promise that Harry will try to take care of him even if he can’t have the rest of his heart. It’s a promise that only someone as selfless and compassionate as Harry could make. Louis can’t believe he’s hurt this precious butterfly of a human.

“ _These hearts will be flooded tonight. I’ll wipe my shirtsleeves under your eyes_ ,” he sings, throwing his head back a little.

It sounds like Harry’s losing his voice and Louis can see people in the audience raising their eyebrows and giving each other looks. Louis knows better. The strain in his voice isn’t vocal inadequacy and it’s sure as hell not because he lacks stamina. Louis can see it on his face and in the tendons standing out against the pale colour of his throat. It’s raw emotion that’s screwing him over. Emotion that he’s helpless to contain. Louis steps out from behind the wall. To do what, he’s not sure but there’s a cord connecting him to Harry and it’s pulling him towards Harry faster than he can think about the consequences. All he knows is the need building up beneath his skin and the tug in his chest as Harry’s strained vocal continues.

“Your eyes…”

Harry’s eyes open to halfway, misery etched in bottle green but it’s as if Harry feels the tug of the cord between them too because he chooses that moment to scan the crowd. Louis knows the moment he spots Duncan, his jaw locking into place but then his eyes shift sideways. To Louis. Louis can only give a weak wave and a wobbly smile. Harry chokes on the next lyric.

“ _Your lips_ …” Harry’s eyes trace the curve of Louis’ mouth, bleeding sadness. Louis’ breath is swallowed up by the unmistakable bobbing of Harry’s throat and the way he twists his hands into fists at his side. His eyes flutter closed and he continues, body swaying slightly from side to side while he laments the loss of Louis in a soulful, strained whisper. “ _Your mouth, your thighs, your back, you drive me wild_ ….”

A hiccup slips through Louis’ lips and he makes his escape, scampering into the toilet to dry his eyes and regain his composure. Regain his composure before he has to get up on that stage and expose his own feelings. Suddenly being semi-naked in front of the boys seems a hell of a lot easier than laying his emotions bare in front of a pub full of slightly pissed and inevitably judgemental Brits. Why did he decide to do this in public again? Oh yeah, fucking Niall. Louis’ hand trembles as he applies his eyeliner and he’s glad he waited until now to do it. Otherwise it would have been completely ruined the moment Harry started to sing.

Once that’s done, Louis steps back from the mirror and takes a deep breath. Then he pushes out of the room and doesn’t give himself time to hesitate. He marches out from behind the wall and all the way up to the stage. That’s when it occurs to him that Harry might not be finished. Louis looks up and thankfully finds that Harry _is_ finished and that he’s landed a room full of applause even with the emotional strain. Louis claps along with them and then moves to block Harry’s way as he attempts to depart from the stage.

“Lou,” Harry’s voice is quiet and husky as he grips Louis’ forearms, gently sliding his hands down to squeeze Louis’ wrists. He looks like he regrets it when Louis melts into his touch, feet automatically shuffling closer to line up with Harry’s. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi,” Louis smiles softly, biting the edge of his mouth as he stares down at their feet. Harry’s are so much larger and at that moment it occurs to him that his feet are rather infant-like. Dammit. “I just, ah…are my feet really small?”

It’s the most ill-timed, inappropriate question Louis has ever asked someone he planned on impressing. Someone he planned on spending a lot of time with. Like maybe forever. Louis screws his eyes shut and shakes his head, cheeks heating up incredibly fast. Things couldn’t be worse. Maybe he’ll accidentally tell Harry he looks like a frog next.

“Yes,” Harry says and then he chuckles to Louis’ great surprise. His head snaps up to find Harry smiling fondly down at him, dimples climbing high. “They’re just like your hands. Little paws.”

Louis might be staring. Harry lets go of his arms and then yanks him into a hug. He gasps as Harry’s arms wind around his shoulders, keeping him there. Harry’s cheek presses against his hair and Louis’ so bloody confused. Still he doesn’t know when he’ll get the opportunity again so he buries his head in between Harry’s pecs and curls his smaller arms around Harry’s waist, inhaling deep.

“You look incredible,” Harry breathes in his ear, “worthy of a GQ cover I’d say.”

Louis can hear the smirk in his voice and he feels a sudden burst of hope. Then he gets awfully distracted because Harry gently tips his head back and buries his nose in the spot just behind his ear. He drags it down along the clean line of Louis’ throat until his nose comes to rest at the base of Louis’ collar bone.

“And you smell like—like berries. And something sharper. Cologne. It’s lovely. I don’t know what you’re doing here Lou or why…” Harry’s tone turns abruptly hard and Louis looks up at him in fear, “why _he’s_ here. But I want you to be happy and I trust that you will be. I thought maybe I couldn’t be friends with you. Not like I wanted to but I…” Harry’s mouth wobbles a fraction but he maintains a brilliant smile, “but being here with you now, I think maybe I can.”

Louis feels like someone punched him in the gut and then pulled his organs out through his mouth. He can’t breathe and his eyes feel suspiciously wet. If Harry’s okay with just being friends then is Louis just wasting his time? Louis doesn’t want to be friends with Harry. Not _just_ friends. Is it a complete crock of shit to think that he could persuade Harry to give him another chance? Harry’s acting as though it’s all done and dusted. As if he’s already figured out that he doesn’t want L—then it clicks. Harry must think that Louis’ already decided he’s done with him. _Fuck_ no. He is not done with Harry, not by a long stretch. He won’t be done with him until he’s had Harry’s lips suctioned to his for at least the next fifty years of his life and even then…even then, he’s afraid he’ll still want Harry in the same soul sucking, life altering way he does now. Frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Louis stretches up on the tips of his toes, locking his arms around Harry’s waist to keep himself from falling while he whispers in his ear.

“Take a seat gorgeous.”

Harry pulls back so fast that Louis worries he might get whiplash. He ducks his head a little, trying to read Louis’ expression and then furrows his brow as he apparently comes away more confused than before. Louis chances an amused little grin and a playful wink. It sends Harry stumbling away, looking completely baffled. Louis’ never felt more prepared for this. The boys are all grinning at him, Liam sending him a thumbs up while Zayn motions for him to fix his hair. Louis ignores him. Niall mouths, “if lost…” which leads to Louis flipping him off. Harry looks between them with an expression that resembles someone trying to do long division in their head. Louis finally meets Duncan’s penetrative stare with a confident one of his own. Duncan looks slightly taken aback by the unwavering strength in Louis’ expression. _Good._

“Hi guys,” Louis waves lamely at the crowd who grunt their greeting in reply. “I’m Louis and I’m just going to do a cover of two songs mangled together in a completely random way. The chorus song belongs to my mate Niall who’ll be singing for you when I’m done,” there’s a smattering of contained applause. “I’m going to do a slower version of it though. The rest is from a song by The Veronicas. Okay so um, yeah. This is just…just listen yeah?”

Louis glances at Harry who nods, eyes deep and dark and then looks back at Duncan whose eyes look a little steely around the edges. He probably hadn’t enjoyed those extra displays of affection between himself and Harry. Louis couldn’t care less. In ten minutes or so, this will all be over. One way or another.

……

Harry can’t tear his eyes away. Not even to look at Duncan’s reaction. Not even when Louis is looking straight at Duncan as he sings the opening. The lights overhead colour Louis’ profile in a deep orange, making his tan glisten and his dark eyeliner look much bolder. He looks unfairly fit in dark braces and tight clothing, his hair all spiky and fluffy atop his head. Like a fluffy duckling. Louis probably wouldn’t enjoy that comparison. A sexy fluffy duckling or— _never mind_. Harry would love to run his hands through that fringe. He’d love to run his hands all over Louis actually. It’s more than his gorgeous ensemble though.

It’s the power in his look as he stares Duncan down and sings about Duncan hurting him. Treating him badly. Manipulating him. His bright blue eyes do not waver in the slightest, his stance wide and steady as he grips the microphone tight. His voice is a husky, soft sounding murmur but it carries through the room with quiet power and conviction. There’s something about the sharp bone structure in his face and strong jaw line mixed in with those soft looking curves. Something about the way his gaze is determined but not angry. As if all the chaos swirling inside has finally ebbed away and left only clear direction and purpose. He’s stunning in his confidence. His courage.

Harry observes this all before Louis swings his head around to look at him, stern blue melting into softer, pleading blue. Earnest. Louis sings the chorus straight to him and Harry’s head spins. His fingers tremble and he can feel Niall clasping his shoulder and muttering something in his ear but he’s not listening. Harry’s baby, his own little firefly heart is standing up on that stage and singing out to him with a world of meaning in his eyes and Harry’s stomach is tied up in knots.  Borrowed or not, Harry can feel that Louis means every word of that chorus. He continues to transition between staring down Duncan as he sings a verse and then gently tracing Harry’s face as he murders the chorus. When Harry does tear his eyes away for a moment, he finds Duncan gripping his glass tightly as he looks up at the stage with a locked jaw. Zayn pulls Harry back down as he begins to rise.

 

_Job well done, standing ovation,_

_Yeah you got what you wanted,_

_I guess you won._

_And I don’t want to hear,_

_They don’t know you like I do,_

_Even I could have told you,_

_That now we’re done._

 

**I’m sorry if I say I need you,**

**But I don’t care, I’m not scared of love,**

**Cause when I’m not with you, I’m weaker,**

**Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?**

**That you make me strong.**

 

_I know you thought that I wouldn’t notice,_

_You were acting so strange,_

_I’m not that dumb._

_In the end, I hope he was worth it._

_I don’t care if you love me, you make me numb._

 

**I’m sorry if I say I need you,**

**But I don’t care, I’m not scared of love,**

**Cause when I’m not with you, I’m weaker,**

**Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?**

**That you make me strong.**

_We’re that song you wouldn’t sing,_

_Just a broken melody,_

_You’re killing me._

 

_You play me like a symphony,_

_Play me till your fingers bleed,_

_I’m your greatest masterpiece,_

_You ruin me._

_And later when the curtains’ drawn,_

_And no one’s there for you back home,_

_Don’t cry to me, you played me wrong_ ,

_You ruin me._

 

**I’m sorry if I say I need you,**

**But I don’t care, I’m not scared of love,**

**Cause when I’m not with you, I’m weaker,**

**Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?**

**That you make me strong.**

 

Harry is on his feet before Louis has even finished the last note. He’s not at all miffed at the fact that everybody else is standing too, despite not doing the same for him. Louis is brilliant. The emotion alone. It didn’t weaken his voice the way it did Harry’s. It made him stronger. Sure, the “ _you’re killing me_ ,” was more of a sob than anything but the rasp was perfect. Sexy, if not heartbreaking. Harry’s eyes had welled up with pride and he had to take a long swig of his drink and hold tight to Niall in order to stop himself from going up there and pulling Louis into his arms. The last chorus was quieter than the rest, huskier too and it was just for Harry. That great deep blue was overflowing with the words “ _I miss you_ ” and Harry could write a whole song about the way Louis just laid it bare for him.

_Pay attention, I hope that you’re listening cause I let my guard down. Right now I’m completely defenceless…_

The sheer intimacy of the moment. 

_For your eyes only, I’ll show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart. Now you know me, for your eyes only._

Harry doesn’t miss the twitch of a smile on Louis’ face as he blushes and bows for his new adoring fans. Harry can hear Niall cackling at the look on his face as he watches on but he’s never been less interested in his mates. Finally Louis’ eyes come to rest on his face and a real smile breaks through. One that’s adorably toothy and crinkly eyed, pushing his rosy cheeks up towards his eyes. He looks a little teary and overwhelmed but then he simply coughs and pulls the microphone back up to his mouth.

“Thank you so much,” he says, “all of you. I ah, I just have a few quick words I need to say. To somebody in the audience.”

Harry’s heart is racing and he must be grinning something stupid by now. Then as he follows Louis’ gaze, his stomach drops. Louis can’t possibly be talking about Duncan, can he? Apparently he can because that’s exactly where he’s looking as he pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and then slides on his glasses. Harry wants to tie him up in his braces and fuck him with his glasses on. _Later Styles, cool it_. Harry’s still confused as to why Louis’ so focused on Duncan but he refuses to believe that after all that, Louis’ changed his mind.

“Duncan,” Louis starts, “I wrote this before I kissed Harry for the first time but _after_ I found out you were cheating. After you,” there’s a slight pause, “after you did what you did to me in our flat. It was only a couple of weeks ago but I feel like it’s been a lifetime since I knew you and loved you. I promised myself that I would be completely honest with you and here it is. The letter I never sent you.”

Louis takes a deep breath and then his eyes dart over to Harry’s. Harry flashes him a small thumbs up and nods. Louis nods back, his lips quivering a little. As though he might want to smile but knows he can’t do so yet. He turns back to Duncan.

  
_Dear Duncan_ , _I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now but there’s something I need to tell you. I was afraid of it at first, afraid of what it would mean for you and me but I can’t wait any longer than I already have. Here it is…I think I want to kiss somebody else for the first time since I met you. To be naked with them. In more than just the basic sense. The thing is that I never thought you would want anybody else and somehow that made it worth it. The fighting and the control. The softness you couldn’t seem to spare me. As long as you wanted me and our life together, I could handle the rest. Maybe that’s why when you hurt me the first time, I came back for more. Because I thought anything was fixable if you loved someone. Maybe you don’t love me, maybe you never did. Maybe you just don’t know what love is. All I know is that when I walked into that hotel room, it was a defining moment. I realised that the way you treated me, the way you loved me or didn’t love me, it was never worth it. There was never a sensible “but…” in there. He doesn’t make me happy most of the time **but** ….he really doesn’t care about the things and the people I love **but** ….he really doesn’t make love to me anymore when we have sex **but**. I could rationalise it before but I can’t now. I don’t know how long this new awareness will last or how much it will mean when it comes to changing my life but in this moment, I know that I’m letting you go. I love who you were and I love what you allowed me to be for that period of my life but you have hurt me beyond comprehension and these are wounds you cannot repair with apologies. Harry. The guy you thought I’d already slept with. I haven’t. I won’t. Not until I’m certain he’s as ready for that as feel I may be but there’s something about him. It’s not just his kindness, his compassion or the fact that he does all the things for me that you wouldn’t. It’s that he doesn’t see a weakness in the things that make me weak. It’s that for all that he inspires in me and for all that he does for me, Harry himself is the most incredible human you might ever meet. I’m not even exaggerating. He’s funny in the most indecent, cringe worthy way and he’s playful, sharp, witty.  He’s unapologetically unique and sensitive to other people’s feelings in a way I wish I was. He sees beauty in every inch of an imperfect world. He’s just a breath of fresh air and I know that he loves things more fiercely than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. I’m starting to understand it though. Something that consumes you whether you want it to or not. A heat in your soul that you can only restrain for so long. I’m not sorry I met you because if I hadn’t, I fear I’d have never have ended up in this flat, on the other side of that wall. I’m not sorry I loved you because it’s a part of me I wouldn’t change. I just wanted to tell you….I want to kiss Harry and be naked with him and maybe even fall in love with his curly locks and stupid dimples. Goodbye._

_Louis._

……

There are tears running down Louis’ face. He doesn’t feel them until he’s finished. Until he finally takes a normal breath of air and looks up into a sea of faces that all blur together into one. His glasses are all fogged up. He takes them off, the letter fluttering to the ground as he makes a break for it. Straight for the toilet. He pushes into the toilet, a breathless sob breaking through as the shock rolls through his system. _It’s all over. It’s all over_. It feels like he can fucking breathe for the first time in three years and it’s almost like he doesn’t remember how. He’s bent over the sink, trying not to let it get the best of him when he hears the bathroom door fly open. He’s expecting Harry. He’s expecting to fall straight into Harry’s arms and apologise for the terribly clichéd speech.

Instead, a large sweaty hand pulls him back by the shoulder and when Louis stumbles, whirling around in shock, it’s Duncan’s piercing green eyes that stare back at him. He looks for all the world like he might strangle Louis. Instead he pushes him up against the edge of the sink with a growl, pressing his thumbs so hard into Louis’ waist that he’s sure to leave bruises.

“You fucking humiliated me,” he seethes, digging into Louis’ skin and making him wince, “you’re so fucking weak. Thought you could just go up there, sing your little song, read your fucking stupid letter and walk out of there hand in hand without looking back? Think again you little slut.”

At that moment, Duncan grabs Louis’s hand and shoves it down his pants, forcing him to grip the limp cock inside. Louis shudders.

“Move your fucking hand whore,” Duncan snarls, “no? Don’t want to touch me? How about we do you instead?”

At this point, Louis notices that the lock on the bathroom door has been pulled down which is why he’s stuck on this side and his friends are obviously stuck on the other. He can see the lock slowly turning, probably because someone went to fetch the manager and he knows all he has to do is wait. He can wait. Except Duncan is wriggling his hand into his pants and squeezing him hard. _Too_ hard. Tears smart in Louis’ eyes at the onset of pain and then brim over onto his wobbling cheeks as he realises that this sweaty, putrid man thinks that he has every right to touch him. The right to hurt him. Nobody has that right. Louis sees red just as the door clicks open and Harry, Liam, Niall and Zayn burst inside.

“Louis,” Harry gasps in horror, “ _baby_.”

“Please,” Louis whimpers, bottom lip trembling.

Harry’s eyes jump to where he and Duncan are connected and then he starts to shake. Only it’s more like vibrating. His hands curl into fists and his usually watery green eyes harden to cold slate. His nostrils flare and Louis shrinks back a little, unused to the animalistic rage on his face.

“Get your fucking abusive hand out of his pants right now,” Harry’s tone is low and menacing, one eye twitching, “before I remove it from your wrist.”

Louis is already starting to wriggle, pulling at Duncan’s wrist to try and get out of the situation without violence. Duncan digs into his hip again to stop him moving. Louis cries out and Niall steps forward, his expression as dark as Louis’ ever seen it.

“I told you Lou,” he says through gritted teeth, glaring bullets at Duncan, “if he laid one finger on you—“

“Oh look babe, you’ve got a full pack of guard dogs now. All sworn to protect, are they?”

Duncan laughs into Louis’ eyes, his malicious smirk grating on Louis’ nerves. It’s back. That anger that had been simmering in his veins just as his friends burst in. He’s _so_ angry. He’s angry for the beating, for the throat fucking, for the cheating, for everything Duncan has put him through in the last three years and all that he lost because of it. Including himself. He can feel a wave of inhuman rage rising up but he forces it away. The past is not his burden anymore. Besides which, it’s nothing compared to the anger he feels about this. About Duncan undermining his progress and making out as if Louis doesn’t have his own strength. His own power. It’s as if Duncan doesn’t notice the change in Louis or can’t fathom that he might have a different outlook on life. That he might be better off that way. Duncan sees the things that make Louis weak as a weakness. Louis now sees them as a strength.

“So pathetic. You can’t even fight your own battles, can you? You wouldn’t fight me if we were on the street alone, would you? Didn’t fight me when I held you up against that wall and stopped you from screaming?” Duncan cackles like he thinks it’s the best joke in the world, throwing his head back so his greasy blonde fringe flops over his face, partly obstructing Louis’ view of his cold, pale green eyes. “No, you did the complete opposite. Kissed me back. You wanted me then Louis, why not now?”

Louis’ eyes instantly go to Harry and he’s honestly worried about his blood pressure. He’s very red in the face, the whites of his eyes showing more clearly than ever and Louis can tell it’s only a matter of time before he swings. Harry Styles, prepared to take a swing at a guy for him. He’s not the type but he would. He would for _Louis_. It’s a weird time to get emotional about it but Louis’ eyes leak more tears anyway.

“He did that? He held you up like that and forced you to listen to him?”

 _Oh fuck_. Louis hadn’t exactly mentioned that part. Harry looks downright crazed. Like he can’t decide whether he wants to shake Louis or cuddle him until he stops crying.

“He—“

“You’ll never shake me baby,” Duncan interrupts, groping Louis’ dick and sniggering cruelly when Louis shudders, “because you love it, don’t you? Love having someone to tell you what to do and confirm how worthless you are. You know you’re worthless Louis. You need me to tell you though, don’t you? Need an excuse to go around feeling sorry for yourself. Need an excuse to go crying to your little boyfriend. You are such a fucking---“

“That’s the last time you ever touch me.”

Duncan’s head snaps back in shock. Louis rips the limp hand from inside of his pants and then screams in pain, clutching _his_ hand to his chest as pain radiates out from his knuckles. In the end, it wasn’t Harry. It wasn’t Niall. It definitely wasn’t Zayn, watching wide eyed from behind the other two. It wasn’t--Louis realises Liam is mysteriously missing but _fuck_. It was him. Louis. He punched Duncan and _oh seriously_ … _god fuck,_ it hurts. Louis’ in so much pain that he doesn’t register Duncan clutching his bleeding nose as he winds up with his fist.

“LOUIS!” Zayn cries out at the last moment.

Louis doesn’t nearly have time to duck. However just as Duncan’s knuckles skim across his nose, Duncan’s head snaps sideways and his face goes slack with shock. He slumps sideways into the wall, his head bent at a weird angle as his eyelashes flutter with shock. Then he slides to the floor, completely limp. Louis’ gasping for breath as shock temporarily takes precedence over the pain in his hand. He looks up at Harry who’s shaking his own hand off while he leans down to inspect Duncan’s body.

“Knocked out cold,” he observes with shock. He looks up at Zayn, Zayn staring back at him completely slack jawed. “Did I do that Z?”

“Well Louis did half of it,” Niall says with a grin.

Honestly. Only Niall could recover that quickly. Which reminds Louis. _Fucking ow_. He howls in pain as the shock starts to fade and a sharp sensation replaces it. He tries to straighten his fingers only to find that this makes everything ten times worse. He’s fairly sure he’s broken at least two of them and potentially broken his whole hand as well. Duncan has a really hard face and for all that Louis likes to claim that he’s a sporty gay, he’s not so good when it comes to boxing. He looks down and finds blood staining his knuckles but he can’t be sure whether it’s his own or Duncan’s.

“Oh my god, sweetheart,” Harry crouches down before him, cradling his injured hand with both of his own, “are you okay? How’s your hand? I’m so proud baby.”

“You hate violence,” Louis manages to gasp as Harry gently straightens his fingers again, “why would you—“

“Because of what you said. Because you defended yourself. Because you knew that he didn’t deserve to touch you _ever_ again.”

Harry’s eyes are like steel vats of pride. He wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and then pulls him over to the sink to wash his knuckles.

“Guys,” Liam’s voice suddenly joins the pack, “I called them. They’re on their way.”

“Who?”

“The police Tommo. I called the police.”

Louis can feel them all looking at him, waiting for a dramatic outburst. Everyone except Harry. Harry continues calmly washing his hand for him, stopping to stroke his sore fingers every few moments. As if he knows that those small, tender touches do the most for his pain.

“Good,” Louis says firmly, “and when they get here, tell them what happened. All of it. Give them my number. Tell them to look into my hospital records.”

“What? Why can’t you tell them?” Liam asks.

Harry is done then. He dries Louis’ hand on his own shirt and then gently grips Louis’ waist. In the same place Duncan had. Louis doesn’t flinch even though he’s probably bruised quite badly. Having Harry touch him again is much too heavenly to give up. Harry hoists him up onto the sink and Louis obediently wraps his legs around him. Harry smiles in approval and then winds his arms around Louis, bringing them closer together in a tight hug. Then he draws Louis’ injured hand up onto his shoulder, turning his head sideways to press a soothing kiss to Louis’ little finger. Louis’ insides are liquid warmth.

“Keep it there,” Harry whispers as though it were a secret, “it’ll be safe.”

Louis nods his compliance and then Harry spins them both around, pulling Louis a little lower down so he can tuck his head over his shoulder while he talks to the boys.

“He can’t tell them because I’m taking him home right now. I don’t think his hand is broken, just badly bruised but he might have a broken a finger…or two. He needs my first aid kit. And ice. And I want to—“

“Fuck him into next week?” Niall fills in with a wink.

Louis twists around, accidentally kicking Harry’s leg in the process.

“Niall!”

Zayn raises an imperious eyebrow at him.

“Are you going to try and tell us you _don’t_ want to be fucked into next week?”

Liam elbows him but Zayn just pulls him into his side and whispers something into his ear that makes him blush and duck his head. _Gross_. Louis looks back at Harry and they gaze at each other for a moment before bursting into a simultaneous giggle. Harry kisses the side of his face and Louis pokes his dimple.

“ _Let’s go home_ ,” he mouths, covering the side of his face so the other boys can’t see.

He tilts his head in their direction and then rolls his eyes.

“ _You are my home_ ,” Harry mouths back.

Louis giggles and slaps his wrist with his good hand.

“Don’t be gross,” he teases.

Harry thumbs at the apex of his cheek, grinning widely.

“Then don’t be cute baby.”

“Go. Go _now_ ,” Zayn groans.

Harry and Louis laugh into each other’s necks, their faces still glowing with happiness. Harry carries him all the way through the pub to the taxi.

……

They hold hands as they walk up the stairs to Harry’s flat, Louis holding his injured one to his chest as Harry makes patterns inside the other. They don’t talk but Harry can’t take his eyes off the man beside him. It seems Louis feels much the same, not-so-covertly side eyeing him as they make their way higher. There’s a tiny quirk in his lips and the most astonishing sense of freedom in the way he moves. It’s life altering to see the aftermath of vanquished demons lighting up his periwinkle blue. Harry’s never been this close to an honest to god avenging angel before. He’s never felt so much pride beating in his breast and love thrumming through his veins. Seeing Louis finally accept himself and his worth the way he did, the way he had to in order to fight back, it was like watching a butterfly unfurl its wings for the first time. Like watching a bird fly the coop. It was like in that one moment, Louis revealed himself to be something that Harry had always wanted for him. Self-satisfied.

When they enter the flat, Harry walks Louis backwards through the living room, hands holding onto his waist, their eyes stitched together like perfect puzzle pieces that don’t know any other combination. Once in the kitchen, Harry hoists him up onto the counter.

“ _Stay_ ,” he murmurs, backing away.

“Wait,” Louis tugs on his scarf, pulling him back to the gap between his thighs with a coy look. “ _You_ stay.”

His smile is adorably bashful as he grasps Harry’s cheek and runs his thumb from the side of Harry’s nose to the base of his ear.

“Hello stranger.”

“It’s been a week,” Harry says with a chuckle, running his thumbs over the sides of Louis’ neck, “….but it did feel like a year.”

“I missed this smile,” Louis’ thumb traces the curve of his lower lip, “and your dimples.”

“Apparently they’re as soft as clouds.”

Louis’ nose wrinkles and he shakes his head like a confused little kitten.

“What?”

Harry ghosts his mouth over Louis’, tangling a hand in the base of his hair.

“I was the one who brought you home last night. I was the one who took care of you. You were like a drunken, confused toddler.”

Louis groans and buries his head in Harry’s shoulder.

“Great.”

Harry chuckles, turning to brush his lips over the soft strands of Louis’ spiked fringe.

“It was kind of adorable. Even Niall thought so and that was after you puked on his shoes.”

“I did what?”

Louis groans again, gripping the backs of Harry’s shoulders as he burrows into his neck. Harry feels the soft traces of lips working over his collar bone, a tongue dipping out in between. It makes him shudder with feeling and when Louis inhales deeply, sucking a kiss into the side of his neck, he has to force his head back up.

“Did you mean it Lou?” He asks, surveying the emotions in Louis’ hazed eyes. “Everything you said in the pub? That I make you strong? And you…you think you could fall in love with me? Is that true?”

Louis slides his fingers into Harry’s curls, scratching against his scalp and then tugging on them to bring Harry’s face closer. Harry whines a little and then wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, squeezing tight. He pulls until their torsos are pressed flush against each other.

“I meant every word,” Louis rewards Harry with a barely there push of his cushiony soft lips, “because you are the difference between strength and weakness.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest but Louis shakes his head. He opens his mouth over Harry’s upper lip and pulls, tugging at it with his teeth while locking his legs around Harry’s bum. Harry sighs and melts into it, pushing his tongue into Louis’ mouth.  Louis’ fingers move ever so lightly over his scalp.

“Christ I love kissing you,” Harry pants, nipping at Louis’ mouth, “I love your mouth. Always so wet and warm.”

Louis lets out a weak growl and takes charge of the kiss, expertly fucking his tongue into Harry’s mouth at a slow and sensual pace.

“I was going to say…” Louis sounds inordinately out of breath but Harry’s no better. He can feel his own pulse in his cock. He watches Louis’ dilated pupils with pure longing while Louis whispers the rest of the sentence along the lines of his mouth. “…That even if I could do this without you now, it wouldn’t change a thing. It wouldn’t change what you’ve done for me. I could do it…I could push him away and punch him without you there to cradle my hand afterwards but it would still only happen as a direct result of meeting you. Your borrowed strength allowed me to find me own. You taught me Haz and there’s no denying that. You’re a muse, a role model….you’re the closest thing to an angel I’ve ever met.”

“Ridiculous,” Harry rubs his nose against Louis’, kissing him once, twice, three times….”you’re mine. _My_ angel. That bum though,” Harry grins and then slides his hand down the back of Louis’ jeans, gripping him tightly, “the devil’s work, I’m sure.”

Louis wiggles beneath his hand, fluttering his eyelashes at him.

“Satan likes big butts and he cannot lie.”

Harry laughs terribly loud and then kisses him fiercely, gripping almost half of Louis’ waist in just the open curve of his hand.

“I want to be naked with you right now,” Louis breathes in his ear, “want to be under you and all over you. Want your tongue and your cock.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“This is a confusing religious experience,” Louis snorts. “From Satan to Jesus in two minutes flat.””

Harry pulls back to look at him, his eyes full of sincere wonder. He still can’t get over Louis’ fucking clothes. Nothing in comparison to what lies beneath, Harry knows but he just can’t believe that he has any share in this. He runs his hands up over Louis’ chest, smoothing over the frankly porn worthy braces and then brings his hands down over Louis’ soft sides, finishing by cupping his perfectly shaped hips.

“You _are_ a religious experience,” Harry tells him, licking over his bottom lip.

Louis’ eyelids hang low over the blue of his eyes and he looks up at Harry from beneath long eyelashes, sinful hunger in his gaze. Harry wants his mouth on every inch of that soft, caramelised skin.

“Please wait here sweetheart. I just want to ice your hand and bandage it.”

Harry holds the affected appendage in both of his, ducking down to kiss the spot beside Louis’ eye. The skin crinkles beneath his lips.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Harry grabs his first aid kit and then a pack of frozen peas from his freezer, wrapping them in a tea towel that he keeps folded over the oven handle.

“I’m glad you punched him,” Harry says quietly, a whisper of a smile gracing his lips as he wraps the cool package around Louis’ swollen hand, “but your technique needs work baby. Did you tuck your thumb in?”

Louis glares at him and then gently pushes at Harry’s stomach with his free hand.

“Well I didn’t exactly have time to think about my wrist action or whatever else. But I’m not a complete idiot…of course I didn’t tuck my thumb in. Maybe he just has a really hard nose.”

“Maybe,” Harry’s grinning too wide, “maybe I don’t mind looking after you like this anyway.”

Harry’s eyes drop down to where he’s holding Louis’ hand and testing the joints. Louis winces a little but then Harry reapplies the ice and his eyelashes flutter with relief.

“I was desperate. I just wanted him to stop touching me.”

Louis’ voice hitches a little, his bottom lip trembling. Harry breaks away from what he’s doing to cup his cheeks and kiss him softly.

“You’re free sweetheart,” he thumbs at the wet corners of Louis’ eyes. “I could have done more than knock him out seeing him touch you without your permission like that. Seeing the fear in your eyes. I’ve never felt quite so much rage. Perhaps not even when I found you lying lifeless in your flat. Because I wasn’t there. Being there, you don’t even know Lou. I just wanted to blink and for all of it be a bad dream. You’ve been through so much.”

“And you were there through all of it,” Louis unwraps the scarf from around Harry’s neck and drapes it around himself instead. It looks a million times better on him than it does Harry. “You did so fucking much for me Harry and I went and cocked it all up with one kiss. I want you to know that even though he once had a hold on me like no other, yours was far greater. Because you held me without force…without intention. I’m drawn to you and it’s this invisible cord that neither of us intentionally attached. Pulling us together whether we want that or not. And I didn’t. Not at first. Not when I still had a prayer for a dying relationship.”

“And now?”

“Now I can’t get enough of you Styles,” Louis plays with the scarf around his neck, his eyes shimmering bright, “it’s fucking never enough. I want to write you a song and live stupidly happily ever after. I want to fuck like we’re eighteen and starving for it. Because I _feel_ that when I’m with you. Like I’ve no control. None whatsoever. Just--nobody compares to you and the level of want that I feel when I’m with you. I want to kiss you breathless and love you hello. Love you goodbye. Relive each moment a few thousand times over. If there’s something I’ve learned from a million mistakes, it’s this… that it’s you. You’re the one that I want at the end of the day and I can’t imagine feeling at home with anybody else. You’re my safety, love.”

Louis’ hand brushes over the wetness below Harry’s eyes and his expression turns adoring.

“You’re just a big baby, aren’t you Styles?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head at Louis’ audacity. He’s a proper arse. Harry’s so in love.

“I just can’t believe I’m with you. You’re my—I mean we’re…erhm...” Harry trails off, feeling about as smooth as a cactus, “Christ, I’m bad at this.”

“Harry, bandage me up love.”

“Right, course,” Harry blushes, his heart racing embarrassingly fast in his chest as he grabs the white bandage and the clip to hold it in place.

If Louis wants to pretend that Harry didn’t say anything, that’s fine. Just peachy. Harry stares determinedly at the bandage while he wraps it around Louis’ hand, ignoring the insistent blue eyes that he can feel piercing his skull.

“Harry,” Louis finally sighs, sounding bereaved.

Harry almost looks up but thankfully remembers his shame just in time. He focuses instead on inserting the clip into the bandage.

“Yeah Lou?”

“I love you. So much. I want to be your boyfriend. And I want…to have you all to myself really. I can’t stand the thought of you being with anybody but me.”

Harry takes a deep, shaky breath and then tilts his head up. Louis looks no better. His eyes have a glass sheen over their perfect crystalline blue and his whole mouth is quivering. Still, Harry spies all the little things he loves most about Louis’ happiness. The perfect little crinkles by his eyes, the tendency of his mouth to slip up at the sides and the aqua tinted light that circles his pupils, emitted from somewhere deep within. He’s beautiful; with his facial hair, a soft ginger beneath the white light of the kitchen and his soft, rounded cheeks contrasting with the attractive sharpness of his cheekbones. His hair looks like the stiff peaks that form in whipped cream with softer, messier tufts in between. _Gorgeous_. He’s warm tea and soft slippers in human form. He’s the two little kittens wrapped around each other in the living room. Harry loves him completely.

“I love you too. I’m yours,” he whispers, running his fingers through Louis’ hair, “Always yours. _Only_ yours. I love you so much sweetheart. I think I’ve been falling ever since I saw you.”

Their lips meet in a dual sigh, tongues slipping out in a coordinated move that leaves them both moaning into each other’s mouths. Louis’ legs slide up and down Harry’s back as he bucks his hips up against Harry’s groin in smooth undulations. Harry swirls his tongue around Louis’ and then slides his hands down the back of his pants, grabbing fistfuls of his perfect bum. Louis breaks away from the kiss, arching his neck and letting his head fall back as Harry massages his arse, pulling his cheeks in opposite directions. He uses the opportunity to lean forward and suck on Louis’ Adam’s apple, lightly scraping his teeth across the exposed bulge. Louis’ whole body jolts, his bum pushing back against Harry’s hands and then he’s pulling Harry against him as he grinds their crotches together even harder.

“Can I take you to bed love?” Harry sucks on Louis’ ear lobe, using his grip on Louis’ bum to increase the speed of his rutting, “want to open you up on my tongue.”

“Take me, take me, take me please,” Louis chants.

Harry doesn’t take his hands out of Louis’ tight trousers. He just pulls him off the counter by the arse and then hoists him up so that Louis’ groin perfectly lines up with his own belly button. Louis’ breathing hot and heavy against his neck and lathing his tongue over the top of Harry’s shoulder blade, teasing him with the barest hint of pleasure. Harry’s little finger slides sideways and circles his rim. By accident of course. Louis’ breath stops and his legs curl tighter around Harry’s waist.

“Harry,” he whines, pressing quick, moist kisses to Harry’s neck and shoulder.

It sounds more like a plea than a warning so Harry trusts his intuition and lets his finger slip inside. Louis’ mouth stops moving for a moment and he exhales quietly, rubbing his firm bulge up against Harry’s stomach. Harry can feel it, the utter relief. It’s indecently sexy. The fact that Louis’ just relieved to finally have something inside of him. To have Harry’s finger inside of him.

“That better baby?”

“More please,” Louis rasps, his tongue dancing along the shell of Harry’s ear, “love your fingers. Love _you_.”

Harry’s cock spurts precome inside his trousers, straining against them as if trying to prove how desperate for attention it’s become. He inserts another finger inside Louis as he leaves the kitchen and Louis tenses around them, whining again. The warmth and the pressure around Harry’s fingers is incredible. He wants to be inside Louis. _Now_.

Harry lays Louis down on his bed covers and then thumbs at his nipples through his shirt, taking his mouth with ease. Louis arches up into him, securing his arms around Harry’s neck as Harry crawls into the space between his open thighs. Louis’ hands scrabble up the back of his shirt, scratching at the small of his back and then tugging at the edges of his shirt.

“What do you want baby?” Harry sucks on his lower lip, running his hands up over those muscled thighs.

Louis tugs on his shirt again, groin bucking up against Harry’s clothed stomach.

“Shirt, off. Please. Naked,” he says with a husky tone, eyelids hanging low, “please Haz.”

He’s so much perfection in one tiny body that Harry can’t help but internally gloat that this not-so-amateur model is his. His to ruin. In the best way. Harry backs away from the bed, Louis watching him with hungry eyes as his own tongue dances over the seam of his swollen mouth. Harry lifts his shirt up over his head in one quick motion, dropping it to the floor before swiftly yanking his trousers down too. Louis smirks and then nods his head in the direction of Harry’s pants.

Harry smirks right back and then runs his hand down the centre of his chest, rolling his head over the backs of his shoulders and letting out an exaggerated moan. Louis giggles, cutting off abruptly when Harry’s hand slides beneath his underwear. Harry lets out a soft relieved sigh as he cups himself and then squeezes, easing some of his own tension. Louis bites down hard on his lower lip and shakes his head as if in disbelief. It only spurs Harry on.

“ _I don’t want anybody else_ ,” he rasps, watching Louis with a purposeful gaze, “ _when I think about you, I touch myself_.”

Harry hooks his thumbs in the edges of his briefs and then slides them down over the curve of his ass, his cock bobbing up to face Louis like it knows exactly what Harry wants. He kicks his underwear off his feet, grinning at the slightly unfocused look in Louis’ eyes as he swallows and starts unwrapping Harry’s scarf from around his neck. Harry climbs quickly onto the bed and covers Louis’ hands, halting him.

“Want to do it myself,” Harry tells him, stroking over his bandaged palm.

Louis nods, looking wonderfully overwhelmed and then throws himself into Harry’s lap, knocking them both back against the covers. Once atop him, Louis resumes kissing him furiously. At the same time, he bears his weight down against Harry’s leaking, hard cock, rubbing his arse all over it and turning Harry on to no end. His jeans chafe a little but Harry’s too drunk on the friction to care. Louis’ hands roam up and down his body, stroking over his skin and tweaking his nipples. Trailing goose bumps wherever they touch. Then he wraps a hand around the base of Harry’s cock and Harry’s body lurches up in surprise. He almost knocks his boyfriend out. _God_ , he loves that word.

“Fuck,” Harry swears, shivering with sensation, “so good to feel you like this.”

Louis’ mouth twists up and he tugs on Harry’s earlobe with his teeth.

“I’m the one who’s feeling you babe.”

Then he moves his hand, furiously jerking Harry off at an almost aggressive pace. He leans back to watch Harry, his eyes slanted with happiness. There’s an otherworldly glow around the outside of his profile. Or maybe that’s just Harry’s imagination. That and the fact that more than half the blood from his brain has gone straight to his dick. Harry’s breathless pants turn into electrified gasps as Louis sets a punishing pace, squeezing the base with every stroke and pushing his thumb against Harry’s slit when he nears the head. Harry’s hips roll up into his touch. Louis locks a hand around his hip, stilling him for a moment as he leans over his chest and sucks a nipple into his mouth. Harry grabs the back of his hair, fisting it in his hands. Then he tips his head back, groaning as Louis’ tongue does wicked things to the areola inside his mouth.

“Lou I— _shit shit shit_. Darling— _Fuck_!”

Louis releases Harry’s wet nipple from the warmth of his mouth.

“You’re not making much sense love.”

Harry growls and stills Louis’ hand on his dick, eyes flying wide open.

“I don’t want to come inside your hand instead of your arse.”

Louis chuckles and pulls his hand away with a smug grin. Harry cannot have this.

“Your turn,” he says, rising up onto his haunches.

Louis flutters his eyelashes, biting down hard on his bottom lip. _Ruthless_. Ruthless angel.

“How do you want me Styles?”

Harry lets out a quiet little roar and snakes his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling him up into his naked groin.

“I want you all over me,” he breathes, sucking on the underside of Louis’ strong jaw.

Louis’ hands scrunch in his hair, tugging to pull Harry up to his lips.

“Kiss me boyfriend,” he says with a giggle.

Harry pecks his lips. Louis pouts and then twists Harry’s nipple, causing him to yowl.

“Kiss me properly.”

Harry rubs at his tender nipple, smiling dopily at Louis even through the pain.

“I love you Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis’ smug grin morphs into something softer and he brushes his mouth against Harry’s, deep seated blue glowing like nothing Harry’s ever seen.

“Prove it.”

Harry removes the half undone scarf from Louis’ neck, kissing along every each inch of his tanned neck as it’s exposed.

“I want to try something,” he whispers, brushing his lips back and forth over Louis’ Adam’s apple.

He’s transfixed by the way it bobs every single time, more and more goose bumps cropping up over that one sensitive patch of skin.

“What?” Louis asks, voice high and breathless, “what do you want to try?”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

Harry kisses him again, stroking his thumbs over Louis’ midsection.

“Let’s get you out of your beautiful clothes.”

Louis’ smile is only a touch shy, his cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. Somehow Harry knows it’s not the shame that used to burden him but a rather surprising and not unwelcome desire to be naked for Harry. To be naked _with_ Harry.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Harry flattens the sides of his hair and kisses the crown of his head. He takes Louis’ hand and then guides him to stand.  Slipping his hands beneath those delectable braces, Harry slowly slides them down over Louis’ shoulders, keeping eye contact all the while. Louis unclips them from his jeans himself but before he can let them fall to the floor, Harry catches them, shaking his head.

“Put them on the bed Lou.”

Louis’ eyes are a little wider, his cheeks a little bit more pink. He only looks more beautiful.  The rhythmic flutter of his eyelashes is nervous but anticipatory too.

“Okay.”

He quietly tosses them onto the bed covers and then turns back to Harry, raising his arms up for Harry to do the honours. Harry bends down, pushing just the bottom of his shirt up so he can mouth around the bottom of his cute little belly button. He dips his tongue inside, knowing it will make Louis squirm. Then he slowly eases the rest of his shirt up, mouthing over the lines of his ribs and continually dropping down to suck on the softness of his curved tummy. He tastes so sweet and feels like silk beneath Harry’s tongue. There’s no way this is reality.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” Louis’ tone is one of disbelief.

“No,” Harry denies, pulling Louis’ shirt up and over his head.

He cups Louis’ jaw with one hand and then dips his tongue into his mouth.

“Are you…” Louis gurgles as Harry sucks his whole tongue back inside his own mouth, “….trying to…” Harry reaches around and cups the bottom of Louis’ arse, hauling him up against his own body, “….distract me?”

“I dunno,” Harry unzips Louis’ jeans and sneaks a hand inside, watching for the change in his expression, “is it working?”

Louis moans as Harry relieves him of his trousers, watching him with wide eyes as Harry to his knees. He cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, throat working and he looks so unbelievably overwhelmed that Harry simply cannot tease any longer. He rips Louis’ briefs down his legs and then grips the back of his thighs, pulling Louis towards him as he swallows him right down to the base.

“Oh _fuck_ it’s working babe,” Louis’ voice shakes and Harry gags on his dick a little as he attempts a smile, “it’s working so well.”

Harry pulls back a little and replaces the warmth of his mouth with the pressure of his hand. He doesn’t falter in his ministrations, licking around the fullness of Louis’ dick and swirling his tongue around the head like it’s his favourite lollipop. He teases Louis, flattening his tongue out along the slit for a mere second and then drawing it back into his mouth, pumping Louis’ cock in between. Eventually Louis’ nostrils start to flare and he forcibly pushes Harry’s hand away.

“Thought you said you wanted to try something.”

Harry grabs holds of his dick and kisses the tip.

“Wait here.”

He returns carrying a thin brown belt. He’s watching Louis intently so he doesn’t miss the quiver of his lips or the flash of fear in his eyes. He’s at Louis’ side in an instant, pulling him into a tight hug and pressing comforting kisses to his hair.

“I’m not going to hurt you Lou,” he promises, “I just want to make you feel good.”

Louis nods silently and pulls back, looking a touch sheepish.

“Sorry,” he screws his nose up, “of course you’re not going to. Don’t know why I—“

“Shh,” Harry traces the line of his mouth, “just let me take care of you.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“You’re always taking care of me.”

Harry nips at the side of his neck, trailing kisses up to his ear.

“It turns me on. Seeing you all worked up. Watching you fall apart. _I love you_ ,” Harry says with emphasis.

There’s a little intake of breath and Louis turns his head, mouthing at the side of Harry’s cheek while Harry sucks on the opposite side of his neck. Meanwhile Harry takes the belt and draws it around Louis’ waist, fastening it just below his belly button. He has to make a new hole in the leather just to get it to stay because Louis’ waist is so much tinier than his own. He steps away from Louis, reaching over to grab the braces and then pulls them back on over Louis’ shoulders, clipping them onto the belt.

“So sexy. Love your braces.” Harry runs his hands down Louis’ sides and over his hips, letting his fingers reach around to grip that lovely arse,  “…love you more in nothing _but_ braces.”

Louis grins shyly and flicks one with his thumb. He’s too much sex appeal in one person. Harry pats his hip.

“Turn around for me lovely.”

Louis gives a sultry smile and then shakes his hips a little as he spins. Harry’s hands clamp down, his eyes widening to saucers in his head. For once, it’s not the sight of Louis’ arse that completely disarms him. It’s the pretty dark ink stretching across the small of his back.

“Louis,” he says, voice choked.

He runs his thumb over the ink, mouth parted with shock. Louis twists to look at him, his own eyes just as wide as Harry’s.

“Fuck, Haz. Please don’t—I was drunk. I know it’s—“

Harry leans forward to kiss him, cutting off his speech.

“I love you. Nothing is too much baby. And I’m—I know you didn’t mean it but I like the thought that _I’m_ your home. That if you ever were lost, I’d be your true north.”

“I do mean it love,” Louis’ smile is tender. “It’s going to sound stupid but I feel like being with Duncan, it was like I was stumbling through the dark…with an empty heart. But you say you feel the same and I think, I think that’s all I needed. For you to find me and give me your heart.”

Harry doesn’t say anything because he’s sure his expression says at all, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears and his frog smile lighting up his entire face. His heart is beating so slow in his chest and Louis’ wholesome blue eyes fill his whole vision. Then Louis bursts out into laughter and the spell is briefly broken.

“I just can’t believe I have a tramp stamp with your name and number. Like a puppy.”

Harry snorts at that and then bends down to kiss the dimples at the base of Louis’ spine, smiling up at him with love as he clips Louis’ braces to the back of the belt.

“You are my puppy Lou.”

Louis groans.

“If you don’t prove your skills to me in the next five minutes, I’m trading you in for a less absurd boyfriend.”

Harry takes that as a challenge. He scoops Louis up into his arms and then places him back on the bed, rolling him onto his stomach. Then he collects the scarf from the floor.

“Put your hands on the headboard.”

Louis wriggles up the bed covers quickly and slams his hands down on the headboard. Harry takes a moment to admire the obscene cut of his back muscles and the sultry curve of his spine, lovely olive tones contrasting with the dark of his braces. That’s not to mention the delicious swell of his arse, perfectly smooth and firm. Harry ties Louis’ hands to the headboard using the scarf and then pulls to make sure it’s tight. He ensures it’s still loose enough that Louis could get free if he needed to. Loose enough that it won’t leave any marks. He’s not that kind of guy and they’re not that kind of couple.

“This okay?” Harry asks with sudden concern, petting the back of Louis’ head.

“That depends,” Louis twists his head as much as he can in his position, an attractive half smirk lifting his face, “on whether you plan on taking advantage.”

Harry gently turns Louis’ head back around and then gets to work. He positions himself on all fours, leaning over the top of Louis as he bends down over the nape of his neck. He holds onto Louis’ shoulders, keeping him still while he slowly scales his tongue down over the centre of Louis’ back. Louis’ back arches up into his mouth and when Harry catches a glimpse of his face, his eyes are closed and his mouth is parted in a silent sigh. Harry continues his journey, reaching around to stroke Louis’ cock as his tongue finds its target. He moves down Louis’ legs so he can properly dip his tongue into the crevice of his ass. Gently squeezing Louis’ cock and brushing his tongue up and down his crack with slow, sweeping strokes gets Louis panting and pushing back onto his mouth. Harry can only moan quietly at the way his wrists tense around the soft constraints. It only gets better from there. Harry parts Louis’ cheeks with his hands and then delves in, lapping at Louis’ pretty pink hole with reckless abandon.

“Missed you kitten.”

Louis snorts. His tone, however, is more than breathless.

“Missed you too.”

Harry buries his nose in Louis’ arse and then mouths over his rim, circling his tongue. Louis croaks out an “ _oh god yes_ ” and tries unsuccessfully to direct Harry’s tongue inside.

“I was talking to your pretty pink hole baby.” Harry pats Louis’ side, thumbing at said hole with his other hand, watching it flutter. His tone is one of worship. “So beautiful.”

Louis snorts again.

“You cannot call my hole kitten. You _cannot_ give my arse a nickname.”

“Baby got back,” Harry hums, massaging Louis’ cheeks.

Then he smiles against the curve of Louis’ arse cheek and sinks his teeth in, earning a high pitched moan from his boyfriend.

“Your _hole_ is kitten. Your arse though, your arse is Forbidden Fruit.”

“What? Why?” Louis splutters through his laughter.

Harry bites him again, teasing him by reaching around and jerking his hard cock just once. Louis rubs desperately against the sheets when he lets go.

“Pure sin. Adam and Eve fell from heaven because they gave in and indulged in temptation. They ate from the Garden of Eden and fell. I just want to eat you.”

“So I’m a one way ticket to a life locked out of paradise? Is it worth it?”

Harry sucks a kiss to the spot just above Louis’ hole.

“You tell me,” he murmurs and then plunges his tongue inside.

Louis cries out loudly and tenses tightly against Harry’s tongue. So tight Harry can’t even move. After a deep breath and a shaky moan, Louis loosens up. Harry doesn’t give him much time to recover, fucking his tongue in and out and letting his salvia build, moistening Louis’ walls. The bed shakes and Louis’ back muscles strain as he tries, unsuccessfully, to roll his hips back against Harry’s face. Harry’s the regular Satan who pushes them back down, spreading Louis as wide as his thumbs will allow as he licks over Louis’ pretty opening. He dips his tongue just barely inside the entrance every so often and continues until Louis is writhing and whining beneath him. His rim turns puffy from the attention being lavished upon it and Harry rewards him by sucking on the side of it. Then he begins jabbing his tongue inside in quick, forceful thrusts that morph into slow, searching strokes. Louis melts and it’s not long before he’s rubbing himself against the sheets again and muttering nonsensical phrases.

“Miracle rimming. Fucki-- _ah_ —fucking, swirling, wet. Like ocean wet. Like flood me— I mean, fuck me. _Ah_ —fuck me.”

Harry pulls away and Louis twists back to look at him with alarm, his arse pushed up and his fringe all sweaty and limp against his forehead. Harry leans over his body to kiss him, trading upper lip kisses for lower lip kisses until he can’t bear to waste any more time. He retrieves the lube from his bedside drawer and then squirts some on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up just a little.

“Don’t—don’t go easy,” Louis pants, “two Haz. _Please_.”

Harry’s a little concerned about it but he’s not opposed to giving Louis exactly what he wants. He thrusts two inside, immediately seeking out Louis’ prostate to ease the pain. Louis keens when he finds it. Harry rubs over it, pushing and prodding and breathing heavily at Louis’ stunning reactions. At first it’s just whimpers and shudders but then it escalates to shouts of Harry’s name and Louis’ hips working erratically against the sheets, trying to gain friction. Harry takes his fingers out and smiles at the cute little huff that Louis exhales against the pillow. Harry grabs the lube and squirts it all up his crack, Louis’ feet kicking out in response to the shock of the cold gel. Harry soothes him with tender kisses at the base of his spine. Then he straddles the backs of Louis’ thighs and parts Louis’ cheeks. The first slide of his throbbing dick against Louis’ slippery arse is heaven defined. Harry can’t contain his low, raspy moans as he bucks his hips and sets a cracking pace. The hottest part by far though, is how much Louis gets off on it, squirming back against him and moaning along with him. Harry rocks up and over his hole, spreading lube and pre-come all up and down his stunning arse. It soon gets to the point where they’re both shuddering with desperation, achingly hard and ready to fuck or be fucked.  Harry unties Louis’ constraints in record time, flips him over and then—then he’s not sure.

“How do you want to—“

Louis sits up, his expression sly.

“I want to try something too.”

Harry quirks a curious eyebrow and waits for direction. Louis presses down on his knees, getting him to sit with his legs open in a butterfly shape. Then he parts them. Harry’s still confused. He’s never done sex like this. Louis scoots closer to him, positioning his legs in the same shape. Only, he throws them over the top of Harry’s thighs and scoots closer again.

“Am I—“

“Supposed to pull me onto you. Yeah,” Louis murmurs, his chest rising and falling in noticeably deep breaths, “it’s supposed to be intimate _and_ less dull.”

“Sex with you never is,” Harry assures him but he’s just as excited.

He fits his hands to Louis’ waist and then tugs him closer, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes. Then with a preparatory deep breath, he pulls Louis over himself. His eyes automatically flutter shut at the incredible feeling of fucking Louis this way. With nothing in between them. Louis’ moist, bare walls clench around him as he pulls until the base of his cock is poised just outside Louis’ entrance. He’s fully inside and it feels like magic. Harry open his eyes and almost wishes he hadn’t. It’s a challenge not to come the instant his eyes fall on Louis’ expression. Louis’ head is slightly tipped back, his Adam’s apple bulging and he’s heaving out weighted breaths like he might be trying to control himself. Harry just stares at him for a moment, feeling Louis clench even tighter around him. Tighter than he thought possible.

“Move me,” Louis suddenly commands, locking eyes with Harry as he fists his own cock, “please babe.”

“I love you,” Harry moans. He pushes Louis back along the length of his dick until just the tip is left inside and then yanks him back, the head of his dick hitting Louis’ prostate head on with one thrust. “Oh fuck, _god_.”

Harry’s shivering as Louis howls and flexes his hips, trying to get Harry to hit it again. Harry repeats the same motion, quicker this time, slamming into Louis’ prostate and making Louis cry out, his fist gripping his dick tight. After that, it’s a race to the finish as Harry pulls Louis on and off his dick, moaning obscenely at the feel of the soft warmth around him. So unforgettably tight. Each nudge of Louis’ prostate has him shouting Harry’s name and fucking up into his fist. They hold eye contact, leaning in to kiss each other whenever the need arises. Which is every few seconds. Mostly they just breathe into each other’s mouths and grin at the wicked sounds produced by their fucking. It’s so good but Harry wants more. _So_ much more. He pulls Louis into his lap, leaning back to ask if that’s okay but Louis is already riding him and Harry is powerless to talk. He settles his hands over Louis’ arse cheeks, whimpering at the way they feel beneath his hands, wobbling with every rise and fall of Louis’ body.

“I love you,” Louis breathes into his neck, mouthing at his skin, “I love you fucking me bare.”

Harry’s hands trace patterns on the small of Louis’ back as he rocks up inside that suctioned tight hole, chasing orgasm. With Louis slamming down at the same time, they manage to achieve maximum prostate induced pleasure. Louis’ moans turn to whimpers and then he stops lifting himself up, instead choosing to circle his hips and rub up against Harry’s stomach. His cock smears pre come all over Harry’s torso but it only makes Harry’s insides feel hotter and his dick move faster, battering Louis’ prostate with each desperate thrust. Louis’ body begins to jolt and he keens loudly. Harry worries he’s hurting him so he cups Louis’ cheeks, pulling back to survey the damage. Yet Louis’ gaze is a thousand degrees hotter than he expected. Harry realises that the jolts are spasms caused by pleasure. He pulls Louis tighter against him and lets him rest his head in the hollow of his neck.

“Fuck Harry,” he sobs, “you’re so good. _Please_.”

Harry’s pupils won’t stay still, rolling back into his head as Louis arse contracts around him. Louis’ dick is fucking into his belly button and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything hotter than Louis as he comes.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he shouts, wildly circling his hips over Harry’s groin to guide his dick right to where he needs it most, “Harry, baby. I’m gonna— _ah_ , fuck.”

His hips don’t stop moving as he shoots come all up Harry’s torso, painting him white. Harry holds him close, stroking his hair and kissing the back of his shoulder. Louis suddenly pulls back and his fingers clench around Harry’s cheeks as he kisses with searing hot passion. His eyes are honest to god spheres of ocean cut glass.

“You’re going to be my last first kiss,” he says and then he closes his eyes, smiling wistfully as he clenches hard around Harry.

Harry’s not ashamed to say that he thrashes a little as he comes, spurting deep inside Louis and thrusting wildly. Louis’ arse milks every last drop and Harry can’t see anything but Louis’ wistful little smile. Can’t hear anything but the subtle promise of forever. His heart is thumping in his chest as Louis pulls himself off his dick, Harry far too out of it to do him the curtesy. Louis curls up at his side and then kisses Harry’s chest, little fingers dancing over the mess of his own come.

“Harry,” he murmurs.

Harry cracks his eyes open, his expression a little vacated he’s sure.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“You’re my lobster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are so appreciated as is feedback. Even when someone says something I don’t like or I disagree with their criticisms, I still take what they say under consideration and try to improve. Thank you to everyone who has commented on this and wasted their time reading it. It means so much to a socially awkward, insecure writer who before finding fanfic had only had her writing read by about 10 or so people.
> 
> P.s To all the larries out there, I love you just a little bit extra xx


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute cute angst and more cute (hopefully.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always apologising but I'm truly sorry for how long some of you have waited. In my defence, I was still working on this but in a different way than I should have been. I was editing the entire story again. Which I still haven't finished. However I felt intolerably guilty so I hit pause on that task and got stuck into writing what I hope is a satisfying end to my little (aka massive) story. 
> 
> In other news, I have a oneshot at the ready because I needed to stretch my writing muscles before I dove back into this. So stay tuned for that :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support and I hope you'll forgive me the errors, the lack of a beta/britpicker and the knowledge I lack concerning all the legal stuff. (Most of it is blatantly inaccurate.)
> 
> Please share your thoughts. Hope this puts a smile on your dial.

There’s something warm and soft on Harry’s chest. It feels a lot like Hugh Grant, only a lot less furry and without the ponging fish breath.  When Harry guides his hand over the silky hair on his chest, the mystery object hums and pushes in closer, burrowing into the hollow beneath his chin. Harry’s eyelids fight their way open and he’s immeasurably glad that they do. He’ll never tire of waking up beside his kittenish, sleeping boyfriend. Harry smiles softly and pats the back of Louis’ hair down, letting his hand roam down over the warmth of Louis’ bare back and onwards to his luscious arse. Fuck, Harry already wants inside again. In all kinds of ways. He wants to push inside Louis’ perfect bum and hold Louis’ body over his as he fucks up inside. But he also just wants to hold Louis’ hand inside his, to explore his mouth with the artfulness of his tongue and settle himself inside that slightly battered heart.

Sometimes he forgets that he’s already accomplished that much, that he no longer has to fear Louis’ doubt or his own. They’ve conquered just about the whole world in two years. Maybe Harry’s giving himself too much credit. Louis has conquered most of it on his own, but Harry was always one step behind, fingers outstretched in case Louis needed something to hold onto.

The first few months following that night at the bar were harder than Harry could have ever predicted. Louis might have known what he wanted but there was always going to be a difference between knowing what you wanted and knowing what to do once you got it. Louis had this way of freaking out over the smallest of steps, the most minute of changes because for him each step closer felt like a step toward some kind of inevitable failure. It often frustrated Harry how little Louis believed in them, in the strength of what they shared. As much as he wanted to understand that Louis’ reticence was a product of everything he’d been through, he sometimes found himself wishing that Louis would just allow himself the grace to move on. In Harry’s weaker moments, he became impatient waiting for Louis’ thinking to transform, wishing only that there would be less roadblocks to them building a life together.

It was things like moving out of their building and buying a house together after just a year of dating. Harry insisted on carrying Louis over the mantle like they were just hitched. Louis insisted they christen every each inch of their new home before they even got to unpacking. Things like that brought a tear to Louis’ eye and a watery, blessed smile to his lips but they often made him short and snappy too. At least for a little while. Then he would find his faith again, usually about the time that Harry decided to cover his face with kisses until he cracked and started giggling. Or crying. Sometimes both.

They always found a way to talk it through….to muddle through the uncharted territories of Louis’ fear. There were hidden doubts that Louis had long kept to himself when he was with Duncan and Harry was still discovering them all. But it seemed that the more they explored his past, the less daunting Louis seemed to find their future together. Like maybe all the agonising was in the code of silence Louis had always lived by.

For Harry, the most telling moments of their time together were the weekends they spent with Louis’ family. The younger set of twins had recently taken to calling him Mrs Lou. Though Harry giggled and blushed like an idiot the first time, he might have also have secretly encouraged them. Unfortunately since their last visit Jay had seen it fit to start teaching them Harry’s actual name.

Harry loved taking Louis shopping for them, buying them both little superhero outfits and football jerseys to match the one Louis kept at home. Doris had the biggest feet, you see and Harry kept walking in on Jay and Louis arguing about whether she’d grow up to be a football star or a swimmer. Perhaps Harry’s favourite purchase was the father-son set of peter pan costumes that he picked up the day before Halloween last year. Ernie sat on Louis’ hip, both wearing matching feathers in their soft caps while Harry stood beside them dressed as Wendy (much to Louis’ amusement.) Harry beamed brightly into the lens of Jay’s camera, his arm curled tightly around Louis’ waist while he hoisted Tinkerbelle up onto his hip and the flash went off. The rest of the girls reluctantly agreed to pose as the lost boys and Jay almost blinded them all with the insistent flash of her camera.

Harry once babysat the twins with Louis for four days when Jay and Dan went away for their anniversary. It was Harry’s little dream come true. He had walked into the living room clutching the twin’s bottles, ready to announce their feeding time. Instead he found himself glued to the spot watching Louis. Louis, who was stretched out over the couch with both babies lying either side of his chest as he spoke to them in dulcet tones. Harry listened as he spoke, one sleeping infant curled beneath each arm, Louis gazing down at them with starry eyes.

“I want you to be precious and innocent for the longest time. But I know one day you’ll have your own special challenges to face and maybe even end up as broken as I was. And as much as I hate the thought of you struggling, as much as I once wanted you to be as different from me as possible, I kind of hope you have something of me in you. The kind of flame that can’t be put out, silly as it sounds. I hope you both meet someone like Haz. Someone to show you vast cities of emotions you didn’t know existed.”

“You could be a poet sweetheart,” Harry whispered in his ear, leaning over him to stroke Ernest’s cheek, “or a philosopher. You’re definitely the best big brother these two bubs could’ve asked for.”

Louis’ baby siblings became like foster children whenever they visited Doncaster. Jay and Dan would back away with knowing grins and exhausted sighs, happy to pawn their children off on almost anyone else for a couple of poop free hours. Both Harry and Louis were content to sit for hours, each cradling a twin in their arms and quietly talking to each other, their eyes never leaving the perfectly rounded cheeks of the child in their arms.

As for the rest of the Tomlinson’s, Harry couldn’t have asked for a better set of almost in-laws. Lottie had made him her confidant and test model. He’d probably seen more shades of eye shadow on his own eyelids than hers come to think of it but it was always worth it for the glow of pride in her eyes when she got something right. Not to mention the even brighter glow in Louis’ eyes as he watched on, trying to have a conversation with Jay at the same time. Lottie texted him almost daily now and her maturity was such that Harry often felt like they’d become more like friends than anything else.

Fizzie was by far the most obnoxious and demanding of the girls. The faster she grew, the more Harry could see a startling likeness between her and her older brother. She had the gall to say things that no one else did and could convey about a hundred different things with just her eyebrows. These days Harry found it difficult to be in the same room as the both of them when they were talking. Louis may have mellowed out a little when he was with Duncan but these days he was becoming more and more like the bouncing ball of energy he’d apparently been in his youth. Not that Harry was complaining. He just couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed whenever he had two antsy Tomlinson’s climbing all over him trying to make him laugh. Or sassing him when he ignored one in favour of listening to the other.

Daisy was also growing in confidence. More and more Harry was pleasantly surprised by how assertive and sure of herself she could be. But it was Phoebe that kept Louis up at all hours, worrying about how she’d started wearing belly tops and talking to them about what her first tattoo would be.

“Baby I hate to break it to you but she’s not the first Tomlinson to show an interest in ink.” Harry said one night, as they drove back from Doncaster.

Louis took one hand off the wheel and flipped him off. Then he wiggled his fingers in the air and waited for Harry to grab them, tugging their hands down to his thigh as he drove. 

“I’m aware of that,” he said archly, “but she’s only thirteen. Besides, just because I’ve decided to treat my body like a canvas, it doesn’t mean she has to go and do the same thing! What if she gets something stupid? What if they mess up?!”

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I do believe her handsome older brother actually owns a tattoo parlour.”

The pep talk didn’t help much. Louis continued to worry and to try to cajole her into a slightly less provocative sense of style. Her body hadn’t yet developed enough to display any curves but somehow that made it all the more uncomfortable when she wore revealing clothes. Harry could understand Louis’ issues. She had the face of an angel and her collection of teddy bears still covered the lower half of her bed. Yet there she was, heading out to a movie with friends in only a low cut crop top and some tiny booty shorts. Kids these days. Louis had moaned for about ten minutes straight when she left for her first date. Harry helped console him about her outfit by reminding him that Lottie and Fizzie had pretty much grown out of it.

“Lottie still wears too much make up,” Louis grumbled, shooting a glare at Jay who backed away with raised hands.

“She’s a budding make-up artist, it’s kind of part and parcel babe.” Louis stared him down. “Oh c’mon Lou, you need to let them go at some point. They have to make their own mistakes, just like you have.”

Louis only had to quirk his eyebrow once for Harry to get the memo.

“Not that you’ve made mistakes or done anything wrong at all really. I actually think that you’re the perfect example for your younger siblings. A real inspiration.”

“Hi Harry,” Lottie sang as she walked through the room. He opened his mouth to respond but her mouth curled up with amusement and she gestured at Louis’ rigid posture. “I don’t think there’s anything you could say at this point babe. I guarantee you won’t be getting laid but feel free to come share my bed.”

Harry glared at her retreating back while Louis muttered some angry comment under his breath and crawled into Harry’s lap. Louis’ annoyance had faded just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by reluctant affection. When he slung his arms around Harry’s neck, his cerulean eyes were only just slightly irked. Harry gripped his waist while Louis leaned back dangerously far in his lap.

“Why is it that every time we argue one of my sisters has to offer you a place in their bed?”

Harry pulled him in close, rubbing their noses together and pushing his soft smile against Louis’ stiff frown.

“Don’t kiss me you twat,” Louis whispered, eyes twinkling as he opened up for Harry’s tongue.

After Louis snogged him senseless and Harry spent a fair amount of time feeling him up, he informed Louis that the girls were just being polite. Offering their assistance to their future brother-in-law like the darling angels that they were. Louis rolled his eyes at him and told him in no uncertain terms that their intentions were far from angelic.

Jay had also become one of Harry’s best friends in the time since he started dating Louis. They texted at least every couple of hours and if Louis went up to Doncaster without Harry, Jay usually wouldn’t let him in until Louis called him and put him on loudspeaker to explain his absence. Actually, it only happened twice before Louis resigned himself to the fact that JayandHarry were a thing now. They swapped cooking and gardening tips and shared funny stories, as well as their favourite photos of Louis.

If Harry was the president of the Louis Tomlinson Fan Club then Jay was the vice president. One time Louis fell asleep with his head on the counter, waiting for dessert and Harry carried him over to the couch, smoothing his hair off his forehead and kissing him gently. When he went to re-enter the kitchen, he found Jay watching him with nothing but sunshine in her eyes.

“He’s so beautiful when he conks out like that, isn’t he?” She whispered, “All baby faced and calm. Reminds me of when he was just a little tacker and he’d burst through the door all covered in mud and sweat, trousers hanging in tatters around his chubby little legs. Twenty minutes later I’d have to carry him upstairs and tuck him in. I never minded. He looks like such a little prince in his sleep. Such a change from when he’s shooting his mouth off about the girls’ boyfriends or cussing everything out.”

Harry snorted and then turned to smile dopily at his very own sleeping beauty.

“He is my little prince,” he sighed, “and I think he probably knows it.”

“Just as well,” Jay’s hand landed on his shoulder while she whispered in his ear. “It’s been a long time since anybody made him feel like royalty.”

So things with Louis’ family were a constant reminder of the way that Louis’ life had changed, or changed back really. The girls got their fun loving brother back and Jay got her little prince returned to her in perfect shape. Harry could attest to that last part. Even Dan had pulled Harry aside several times to clap him over the back and thank him for making both his son and his wife so happy. Harry’s tattoo felt emblazoned on his skin in the best way possible. He was one of them now, a _Tomlinson_ and he felt it was only a matter of time before he was signing his name, Harry Tomlinson instead of Harry Styles.

Perhaps the most difficult part of Louis’ recovery was the reality that it wasn’t yet over. Duncan had been apprehended, questioned, investigated and then charged by the police but he was a lurking threat looming over them at all times. Harry had held Louis’ shaking hand as they journeyed down to the police station to give his statement. He’d rubbed Louis’ back at their lawyer’s firm and then whispered words of encouragement in his ear at the court house. He’d expected some kind of breakdown when it was all over. Yet when Duncan was convicted, Louis hadn’t cried. Instead, he’d gone abruptly still, watching with bated breath as Duncan was dragged away, a cruel snarl on his lips meant just for Louis. Harry tried to take him in his arms but Louis was defiant, determined not to show any weakness in front of the person who demanded his strength. It wasn’t until later that he let himself break down, burrowing into Harry’s side in the privacy of their bedroom, letting his tears soak Harry’s chest.

“I just can’t believe it’s over,” his voice had shook. “I thought I’d feel more validated and like, happier. Or just _more_.  But It’s over and it doesn’t feel…“

“Real?” Louis nodded, nuzzling his head against Harry’s pec. “Well maybe that’s because it’s not. Not completely. It’s not really over because he’ll always be a part of you. He’ll always be there in the back of your mind.” Louis shuddered against him. “But that’s life Lou. You can’t erase sections of your past or the ways that they changed you. You can only hope that from each death, there will be some form of rebirth. That our past lives don’t dictate the direction of our new ones, even if they are inexplicably linked. Each loss is a watershed, a colossal change in the way we think. Like a smudge of dark colour seeping into coral blue. But I’d like to think that once we hang that piece up and acknowledge its depth, there can be space for a whole new landscape. A blank canvas. _Your_ blank canvas, Lou.”

Harry looked down at him while he squirmed into an upright position. His eyes were like silvery orbs, threaded with gossamer hope. He pressed his mouth down against Harry’s repeatedly before delving in for a longer, deeper kiss. When he pulled away, his eyes were shining and he thumbed over Harry’s cheeks with calm.

“You’re a poet’s wet dream.”

Harry snorted and Louis giggled. His eyes quieted as he delicately ran his hands over Harry’s curls.

“I’m serious though. You make me see all kinds of things in all kinds of new and unexpected ways.” Louis paused, his mouth twisting with thought. _“Many have blushed for the frequent fervour of your tongue, the sensual silk of your snowy white skin and the ardent heat of your touch. But it is my secret, for only I know the unmentionable mysteries beneath your eyelids and the rivulets of wisdom that they spurn._ ”

“That’s beautiful. Who said that?”

“Me,” Louis said with cheeks dipped in pink.

Harry stared at him with open mouthed wonder.

Their two years together had been something of a learning exercise but not the unfavourable kind. Harry had never had more fun sorting old CD’s with someone as he did when they moved into their new house. He got such genuine enjoyment from discovering Louis’ taste in music, watching him squirm as Harry’s eyes landed on his dusty Spice Girls collection, kissing him breathless when he found the James Bay.

He’d also found it an amusing challenge trying to adjust his recipes to meet Louis’ ever increasing demands for sugar and salt. Sweet potato fries with low fat cheese were a favourite while Louis had kicked up an absolute stink about swapping salmon for beer battered fish. It was silly and sappy but their domestic compatibility was maybe one of Harry’s favourite things about them. They’d learned how to do laundry with as little fuss as possible (Harry collected his and Louis’ dirty clothes, washed and dried everything and then let Louis fold. He re-folded his own clothes later when Louis wasn’t around) and were almost always certain of whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher.

They’d also just as easily worked out how to keep their sex life from expiring. (“Hey Haz, how do you feel about glittery dildos?” “That depends. How do you feel about fucking yourself on one while I watch?” “Priority shipping, here we come!”) They’d even adapted to which moods meant Harry needed to be spooned and which moods meant Louis. All in all, Harry would say they’d had minimal trouble finding their way together. Perhaps because it was so clear that they’d each met the right person. They were compatible because they weren’t. They worked because they didn’t need to try. Waking up with Louis still gave Harry the same buzz as it had in the very beginning.

Harry’s phone disrupts the peaceful ambience of their Sunday morning, singing out Aretha at an inappropriately loud volume. Fucking Niall. They’d been out late drinking last night and of course that Irish bastard had fiddled with his ringtone. It was bad enough that he’d hidden Harry’s phone so he wouldn’t know the time and might actually end up staying past midnight. (Yes, he has a curfew. No, he doesn’t have his own pumpkin carriage.) Harry didn’t think of it as an enforced curfew anyway because it really wasn’t. He understood Louis’ unspoken request that he be home before midnight. It wasn’t about trust, not for them. It was about Louis being sure that Harry had gotten home safe and having the comfort of Harry’s body curled up behind him every night.

Besides, Harry had no use for being out that late anymore. A few quiet drinks with his mates was enough to satisfy him and then he was well and truly ready to crawl into bed with his boyfriend and cuddle him into the wee hours. Even if Louis had long fallen asleep beforehand. It didn’t make much sense but somehow conscious or otherwise, Louis always sensed whether he was there or not. He knew whenever Harry had gotten in late. Not that he said anything, Harry knew he didn’t want to be that kind of guy but Harry knew he knew. He was always strangely cuddly in the morning and then determinedly distant for the rest of the day. But if Louis did fall asleep before he got home he usually made up for it with his alternative to breakfast in bed. Personally Harry would prefer a blowjob over bacon any day of the week.

So Niall had hidden his phone last night and Louis had gone a bit ape shit, texting Niall a string of harsh expletives and then cussing Harry out majorly when he got home. Apparently it was _his_ fault that Niall managed to nab his phone. As punishment Harry was forbidden from touching his butt. Which was the punishment from hell. Yet Harry never had the heart to complain about Louis’ attachment to him. Not when he felt the exact same about Louis.

“’Ello,” he grumbles, sitting up against his pillow and running a hand through his fluffy mop.

Louis sighs, his forehead creasing with disgruntlement. He doesn’t open his eyes though, just shuffles up the bed and rests his head more comfortably in the crease of Harry’s bent stomach. Harry slides his hand through the tendrils of his soft, chocolate hair.

“Hello, Mr Styles?”

Harry’s eyebrows collide. He doesn’t receive many calls from people addressing him by his last name. His regular clients have quickly learned that he prefers Harry and the people from magazines, tend to cut straight to the chase without so much as a hello. Harry doesn’t mind. He’s just gratified to be acknowledged by them. Gratified that he’s somehow had some minor effect on the industry he once envied and despised with equal measure.

Harry is happy to say that GQ was not his last magazine shoot and that the ones since have all followed a similar theme. Big name brands, advertising execs, magazine moguls, they all come to him seeking his “organic image”. He’s always quick to inform them that he has a brand and a vision all of his own. If they want his eye, they agree to let him do things his way. To mould his own image in the lens of their camera. In this way he’s also moulding the landscape of an industry way overdo for a makeover.

 A few months back Louis had come home with champagne and showered him in silly string and kisses. He showed Harry the magazine cover he happened to pass on his way home, sporting an advertisement that Harry was well known for having orchestrated. To top it off, hidden in amongst the arts and leisure section was a piece by an accomplished journalist who absolutely raved about Harry’s talent _and_ his organic vision. Harry didn’t think he’d really earned all that praise but he’d immediately taken a liking to the way the journalist, Liall Jones, described his quest for authenticity…

 “ _A heroic effort aimed at casting a light on the ‘extra’ always implicit within the ordinary. Though often associated with naivety, this kind of idealism is a breath of fresh air in an industry suffering from stagnation. There is an earthiness that grounds Harry Styles’ photography in truth. For all that he embellishes the working man’s life or the homeless woman’s dreams, there is an undercurrent of plausibility in his determination to let their stories unfold naturally. Without imposition. Similar to the concept behind Humans of New York, Styles’ central vision revolves around the idea of bringing the knowledge to the people and in so doing encouraging them to look a little deeper within themselves_.”

Suffice to say that when Louis proposed celebratory sex, Harry scooped him up in his arms, splayed him out across his work desk and then fucked him until they both saw stars. They collapsed in on each other in a heap afterwards, limbs weak with pleasure and blissed out smiles taking up their faces. It was probably some of the best sex they’ve ever had.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“So sorry if I’ve woken you or interrupted…something.” Someone who knows him and Louis well then. Oh who is he kidding? You’d only have to meet them once to realise that they’re the type to fuck each other into wakefulness. “It’s Anna, from Warren and Darby Lawyers. I took your case on two years back. I’m sure you remember—“

“Yes,” Harry chokes out, his body rigid. “Of course I remember. I’m sorry, I just—“ Harry shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. It’s—he’s still got six months.”

Now Louis’ eyes are open. They’re extraordinarily beautiful as always, bright and soulful like his voice. He looks up at Harry with eyelashes dusted in hazy sunlight and the expression on his face is deeply sad. Harry hasn’t seen that stilted look of fear in his eyes since the court case. Not since Duncan was dragged away from them with his wrists shackled, the faintest hint of shock filtering through his expression. None of them had expected it to go their way. Not really. Harry had stared down at Louis, waiting for the moment that it would really register, not even fully registering it himself. Even their gung-ho lawyer Anna, had been completely floored.

Anna fought like hell for them, her curiosity piqued by their unique and frankly unwinnable case. Virtually overnight she’d become an expert in cases of domestic abuse inside LGBQT relationships. Using a plethora of evidence from relevant court cases she established precedent, winning the first round against Duncan’s defence. After that it had turned into a nasty mudslinging match between Duncan and Louis, Duncan’s family called upon to attest to his “fine character” while Anna called countless other ex-boyfriends to the stand. They hadn’t been able to get onto Sasha but Louis and Harry both suspected he wouldn’t have showed anyway. It didn't matter in the end. Maybe none of Duncan’s other exes had been through what Louis had but they had all seen the signs. They’d all had their throats wrecked once ot twice and been mentally abused within an inch of their lives.

Louis’ tears had been constant when he came home from court each day. He’d collapse in on himself and then barely protest as Harry dragged him to bed and cuddled him down into the sheets. That period of time was full of shudder inducing nightmares and a lot of soapy, warm baths that Harry ran for him, lifting Louis into the tub and gently soaping over each inch of his skin. Tugging him off to the smell of bath salts and scented candles. Fucking him slowly and sensually as water slopped over the sides of the tub. Somehow they made it through. With too much takeaway, a lot of I love you’s and some reluctant slow dancing (Louis is a stubborn shit), they survived.

Harry realised after the fact that maybe it wasn’t the worst experience of their lives. In fact maybe it had healed Louis in a way that nothing else had before it. Being forced to talk and relive. To stare the literal demon in the face and prove that it marked him in ways he didn’t deserve. He was fighting for his own solace. For recognition of what he’d been through. It was a mark of how far Louis had come that he could stand up in that room of sceptical people and make his case on his own. Even when he had to sit there and listen to Duncan’s lawyer attack his character, it didn’t once diminish his sense of power. (Although attacking Harry’s was a whole other matter entirely.) It didn’t stop him from speaking out about his suffering.

It was in the safety of their room at night where the pieces always shattered. Yet even then Harry knew it was less about confronting what happened than it was dealing with the aftermath. Louis no longer doubted he’d been abused beyond what any reasonable person should have to endure but it still tortured him to think about what he went through. Talking about it was like exposing a raw wound to hot water. Not as painful as the initial incision but a sharp reminder of the fact that it wasn’t quite healed. Yet maybe talking about it was the closest Louis would ever get. Maybe they had to make their peace with that.

A week after Duncan was sentenced to his two years in prison, Louis booked two tickets to Paris for himself and Harry. As they stood at the top of the Eiffel tower with both of Louis’ mitten clad hands clasped between his, Harry wanted to kiss him. He looked down at Louis in his cute winter ensemble with his chapped, pink lips and he wanted to peel away every last layer with his teeth. But there was a moment. A moment where Harry’s arms were slung around Louis’ waist and Louis’ head nuzzled in between his pecs. A moment where Louis looked up at him with complete quiet in his eyes; a silent victory. Harry could sense the wounds that remained but he could no longer reach in and tear them open. They were closed. For good.

Louis looks like he’s about to vomit now, digging his square nails into Harry’s hip and swallowing loudly.

“That’s why I’m calling Harry.”

He knows it’s not a good sign that Anna’s slipped into a more casual vernacular. It’s all about placating the client now. Not that she’s ever been anything but compassionate and with a real sense of integrity to it too. She seemed to genuinely care about them, Harry and Louis as a couple and not just how they fit into her wider search for justice. Harry appreciates the gentle touch…especially when it comes to Louis but for himself he’d rather the brutally honest truth. Better for him to hear it first so he can transition through all his difficult emotions before telling Louis.

“What’s going on Anna?”

Harry won’t mince words.

“He’s been granted an early release for good behaviour. There’s conditions of course. He’s not allowed within a 100 feet of Louis, he’s obviously not allowed any kind of contact with him and he’ll be expected to attend weekly therapy sessions with a trained counsellor. I know it’s more than what he deserves but that’s not how the world works I’m afraid. The only assurance I can give is that if he so much as steps within 100 feet of your boyfriend, he’ll be thrown back in jail faster than you can say the words “system failure.” It’s a landmark case so they’re not going to want to look stupid, to look like careless fools who don’t know how to protect the gay community. Least of all those who—“

“Anna,” Harry snaps, heart pounding, “calm down.”

So what if he’s being a hypocrite? The woman was speaking a mile a minute.

“You’re right that he deserves far worse and I hope you’re right about the rest but really love, there’s not much we can do either way. Thank you so much for everything, you’ve been incredible. Really. I’m sure Louis would agree with me in saying that we’d love to have you round for dinner some time just to say thank you. But don’t worry yourself, we’ll be fine. You just focus on saving the world, one gay couple at a time.”

There’s a decent pause.

“Harry love?”

“Yes?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a Big Cheese?”

Harry grumbles down the line and then hangs up on her, tossing his phone over onto his bedside table. When he looks down, Louis’ eyes are wet and he’s shivering into the sheets.

“Baby, please don’t—“

“I’m okay,” Louis snaps, pushing on Harry’s chest to launch himself up, “I’m fine. I just—he’s really out? Just like that?”

“So you heard,” Harry’s face falls and he reaches out for Louis.

Louis jerks away from him with a baleful glare. His eyes are layered with unshed tears.

“Of course I heard. What were you just not going to tell me?”

Harry’s mouth parts with horror and he wrangles Louis into his lap before he can get away again.

“Of course I was going to tell you,” he implores, layering each word with his deepest sincerity, “I just wanted to tell you myself. Is that so awful?”

Louis’ expression relaxes slightly and he kisses Harry softly, once, twice and then a third time with tongue.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes on Harry’s belly button. He gently curls his legs around Harry’s waist and squeezes his shoulders, “I’m just…afraid Haz.”

It’s exactly what Harry feared. It’s perhaps the only thing he fears these day; Louis’ unhappiness. Harry pushes the hair out of Louis’ eyes and then tilts his face up, voice low and gentle.

“You don’t have to be afraid sweetheart. He can’t hurt you. He _won’t_. I know it’s hard to be sure of that but—“

“God no,” Louis shakes his head, looking frustrated, “that’s not it. I’m not afraid of him hurting me. Or even you. I’m afraid of him hurting…us. _Together._ ” Harry’s eyes widen, his mouth popping open with a quiet click. He hadn’t thought of that. If Louis still— “Not because I think he has any stakes in how we feel. He doesn’t,” Louis assures him and Harry heaves out a sigh of relief. “I could never…the thought of touching him is repulsive. But I remember how destructive he was and how easily he ruined me for you. I know it’s different now and _I’m_ different now. But there’s an echo of the past whenever I look in the mirror and sometimes I just worry that he still has some kind of power over me. It doesn’t make sense. I know he couldn’t sway me now…he couldn’t even get near me for Christ sakes. But I just don’t know how to stop feeling afraid.”

Harry pulls Louis to him, planting wet kisses along the arch of his neck and pressing down against his nipple. It always makes Louis giggle and today is no exception.

“Lou, you’re so wonderful. You know how strong you are and you know exactly how to deal with every feeling he used to be able to conjure up in you. That’s why it’s confusing for you. Because he’s back now and you’re used to feeling fear with him. You’re used to not knowing your own strength when he’s around. But like you said, things are different now and that’s all it is. It’s just going to take some adjustment. You don't need to unlearn your fear because you already have. You just have to remember how much you’ve changed and how strong we are together. So much stronger than we ever were when we first started dating.”  
  
"I'm sorry Harry," Louis shakes his head, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. "I just want us to be together the way we have been for these past two years. I know we've had it tough but it’s been the best two years of my life. I'm so happy with you and I just want that to last. I want it to last always."  
  
"And forever?" Harry says with a gooey smile.  
  
Louis nods, his cheekbones twitching. There’s a reluctant smile pulling at the edges of his pink mouth. The kind that gets Harry's insides squirming and has him leaning forward to brush his mouth along the lines of Louis'. He combs through Louis' sleep ruffled hair with his fingers and then pushes at the entrance to Louis' mouth with his tongue. Louis' long since gotten over his embarrassment when it comes to morning breath and he sighs contentedly, opening up to meet Harry’s tongue with his own. After a few minutes of wet kissing, Harry quietly pulls away and meanders over to their dresser.  
  
"Where are you going?" Louis asks, stretching out on his stomach.

He rests his chin in the set of his upturned palms and kicks his feet out like a child. He smiles up at Harry with only the faintest hint of anxiety. Harry still feels that some cheering up is in order.  
  
"I was just thinking..." Harry says as he pulls open his sock drawer, "what if we had today to ourselves? I could go get you some rocky road ice cream and one of those burgers you like so much from that place down the road. I'll rent some movies, go buy some popcorn and then we can do Cuddles and Couch Time."  
  
Harry turns back to Louis to gauge his response. Louis is looking at him with a mixture of stubborn endearment and the kind of second hand embarrassment that you can only get from dating Harry.

"How many times have I told you that we don't need a name for every coupley thing that we do? I thought you got my point after the Blowjobs and Bubbly debacle. And stop trying to make Kittens and Kale happen! It’s not going to happen!”  
  
Harry hunches over giggling. Louis rolls his eyes but there's a soft grin curling his lips that tells Harry all he needs to know. Louis’ absolutely gorgeous like this. His hair is all fluffy and spiky at the ends and his lashes look extra silky. When he reaches over the side of the bed to grab one of Harry’s shirts, Harry’s heart swells. He has to turn back to his sock drawer, completely overwhelmed with love for his adorable live-in boyfriend.

He wondered if maybe the attraction between them might start to fade over time but two years later it still burns fiery hot. Harry still sucks in a huge breath every time he walks in on Louis all dressed up to go out. He still loses it completely whenever he dresses down. Down to nothing at all.

Harry digs through his socks looking for the thin white ones that fit beneath the line of his ankle boots. Instead his hand falls on the small velvet box tucked away in the corner of his drawer. His hand hovers for a second and then he continues looking. He turns around with the socks in hand and Louis is watching him closely. He's drowning in Harry's t-shirt and he looks like something out of a moisturiser advertisement, lying on his stomach and stretching out so just the lower curve of his plump arse is visible beneath Harry’s shirt. Harry dresses in complete silence, ignoring the masterpiece on the bed as he turns an idea over in his head. When he’s finished squeezing into his best white jeans and tugging a black V-necked shirt down over his head, he leans in close to the mirror and arranges his favourite aqua headscarf over his curls. Louis whistles from behind him.  
  
"If I didn't know any better I'd think you were having a torrid affair."  
  
"No need," Harry smirks, bending down in front of him and gripping Louis’s chin. He pushes his lips up against Louis’, teasing his mouth with the outside of his own. "My baby is the only one for me. The only one I want to get caught with banging on the bathroom floor."  
  
Louis snorts and then tugs at Harry’s lower lip.  
  
"Was that supposed to be romantic? I hate to break it to you, love but I don't think quoting shaggy at me is quite the same thing as flowers and hearts."  
  
Harry pays him no mind, planting a dozen or so kisses all over his face and then one in his fringe.  
  
"I'll be back to spoil you with romance later. If it's okay with you there's just a few errands I need to do first?"  
  
Louis quirks a curious eyebrow but shoos him away with his hand.  
  
"Go on then. If you're going to leave me here to insert my _own_ sparkly dildo then you may as well go now."  
  
Harry backs out of the room with pointed finger guns and narrowed eyes.  
  
"Don't even think about taking it out before I get back."  
  
Louis flashes him a sly smile and then rolls his hips down against the mattress. Harry’s t-shirt slips up over his back, exposing his entire arse. Harry hates him. Or loves him to bits. One of the two.  
  
"I mean it baby. I want to lick you clean _before_ I fuck you."  
  
Harry watches Louis shiver and rub against the sheet.  
  
....  
  
He texts the boys on his way downstairs. It takes them less than ten minutes to read the group message, get their shit together and come to meet him. They all shuffle into the back of his car, Niall unceremoniously plopping himself down in between Liam and Zayn. Zayn settles him with a toxic look but Niall just ignores him in favour of twisting Liam’s Snapback around the wrong way.  
  
"So H, what's up?" Liam asks.  
  
"We're going to Doncaster. Like, now.”

"Doncaster? Doncaster as in--"  
  
"Where Louis' from? Yes, that Doncaster."  
  
Liam's face condenses into one giant confused wrinkle.  
  
"Why on earth--"  
  
"The first thing I should probably tell you is that Louis’ not having the best day." Harry’s eyes skip over each of the boys faces. "Duncan was granted early release."  
  
Surprisingly Niall loses it first. His fist shoots out past Zayn and slams into the car window. The other boys jump.  
  
"I'm pissed okay? Like what the fuck. They do know what happened right? He violently and _sexually_ abused Louis. Louis! As in, the little loud mouth with the big heart."  
  
"Yes Niall, we know Louis. Harold is dating him remember?"  
  
"Fuck off," Niall throws his arm out and hits Zayn square in the chest. "This isn't funny."  
  
It kind of makes Harry smile though. Niall doesn't really get tetchy with anyone unless he's been personally insulted but this might be the only exception. Whenever Louis’ around, Niall’s always fighting to earn a laugh from him or at the very least, one of his wispy, close mouthed smiles. He gets awfully pushy when Louis doesn't pay him enough attention and his volume seems to increase or decrease in direct correlation with Louis'. But when Louis' _not_ there, the tides turn and suddenly Louis is his kittenish, naïve little mate who needs his protection. If Louis knew he'd probably chuck a fit so Harry is keeping mum on the subject. Even if it is rather amusing. Endearing too.  
  
"Harry, why are you smiling? Niall will beat your arse in a minute."  
  
Liam side eyes Niall like he could explode into violence at any second. Thankfully Niall just grins and ducks his head.  
  
"I'm not smiling,” Harry argues, even though he is. “I’m just...I'm glad you guys feel the same way. Like, on his behalf. He needs your support, not just mine. But there are conditions to Duncan's release Nialler. Like he's not allowed anywhere near Louis and he'll have to have some kind of therapy too. You're right, it's bullshit but I just know how this works and I was prepared. He's an outwardly "upstanding member of the community" with "relatively few misdemeanours" so he gets off with a shortened sentence and a slap on the wrist."  
  
"And Louis?" Liam asks, "how's Louis _really_ doing?"  
  
"Bit better now I calmed him down. But I know he definitely felt safer with Duncan locked up. Mostly because he didn't have to think about it. He could start the recovery process without fearing some kind of interruption. Now it's like he has to face all of his demons all over again. I don't know if he's ready for it. I think he'll get through it, I do but I think it's been a shock to the system this morning and all my effort is going into reminding him what he's survived already and why. What we’ve survived together."  
  
"But wait, that doesn't explain why we’re going to Doncaster. Why would you want to leave him? Unless he's coming..." Liam looks around the car like he expects Louis to pop up from beneath their feet. "Harry, I'm sorry mate but what good can come from you leaving him alone right now?"  
  
"None. But I'm not leaving him alone, I'm leaving him with you. Sorry to do this but you're not coming with us mate."  
  
"Oh. Why--"  
  
"Holy shit," Zayn whistles, "this doesn't actually have anything to do with Duncan, does it?"  
  
Zayn's amber eyes are locked with Harry's, Harry just knows they're reading all his secrets. They've known each other too long not to be able to read each other's minds. Harry gives him a subtle nod of confirmation and a breathless laugh escapes Zayn’s lips.  
  
"Wait. _Babe_ ," Liam's eyes jump between them, "what's going on? You're eye fucking Harry. Zayn Jawaad, did you kiss him again?"  
  
Zayn snorts and reaches across to grip Liam’s thigh.  
  
"No, he's going to _propose_ ," he says, at the same time that Harry whispers, "I want to marry Lou."  
  
"Holy shit," Niall shakes his head like a wet dog, "this morning is too much. First my X Factor audition, then Duncan, then--"  
  
"Niall," Zayn grips him by the back of his head, "did you just say you auditioned for X Factor this morning?"  
  
"Um, yeah?" Niall's blushing something shocking but he's grinning too. "And I sort of… maybe… got through?” All the boys’ jaws drop.  “I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys but about a week ago I put in an application for my own flat. Cause you know Ashton is moving out of his place and I finally, _finally_ made enough to get me started. Don't ask how because even I don't really know...but I did. And you know the deal, I said I'd audition for X Factor when I ceased to be homeless. Well, me and Ash picked up the keys for our new place yesterday sooo...."  
  
"Congratulations," Zayn coos, kissing him all over his face just to be a twat. "You talented little prick."  
  
Niall cackles and pushes him away with a firm shove.  
  
"Mate that's amazing," Harry gushes, "I'm so happy for you. And so proud. Lou will be so proud!"  
  
Niall's face drops.  
  
"Oh shit H, I totally stole your moment. I’m so sorry. Right, proposing to Louis. Let's talk about that. That's...that's fucking brilliant Haz! Bless your sweet little tush."  
  
Harry chuckles and grabs Niall's hand, shaking it hard in their own kind of weird congratulatory bro grasp.  
  
"Both of you, wow." Liam shakes his head, a soft grin lighting up his cheeks, "We're all growing up so fast. Nialler has his own place, Harry's going to propose and Zayn and I have finally booked our trip after all this hanging around trying to appease Zayn's dad."  
  
"Hey," Zayn sulks, "you said you forgave me. That you were proud of me for putting in the hard work first."  
  
Liam rubs a thumb across the base of his neck, earning a small lip twitch from Zayn.  
  
"I am love. Sorry...you know how much I love to complain."  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, almond shaped amber squinting with happiness.  
  
"So," Harry claps his hands together, "this is the deal. Liam, I need you to stay with Lou until I get back. That means keeping him calm and occupied, understand? And whatever you do, don’t let him leave the house. I doubt he'll make it all the way to Doncaster but either way I can't have him on the trail. He's under the impression I've gone to do some errands and that I'll be back with movies and junk food later so that we can have a cosy night in. If he's starting to get suspicious, text me. Oh and just make sure he's okay, you know? But don't tell him I sent you or anything. It's just a casual visit. I don't think he'll ask you to leave but if he does just tell him that Zayn's been a twat and you could use the company."  
  
"Why am I the twat?" Zayn grumbles, "why can’t it be Li?  That’s much more believable."  
  
Liam's look is thunderous, his eyebrows bunched in sharp angry diagonals. Zayn bites the edge of his mouth and Liam's eyes track the path of his teeth.  
  
"Oh no you don’t. You are not doing that weird thing where you piss each other off so you can forgive each other later and then fuck like animals. Not in my car. And not on mine and Lou's special day. NO."  
  
Liam looks properly chastised, his old shyness making a rare appearance as he looks down at his feet, awkwardly fiddling with his Snapback. Zayn just chuckles and leans forward to flick the side of Harry's ear. _Twat_.  
  
"Okay H…now that you've ruined all our fun, what about me and Niall? Where do we fall into this?"  
  
"Moral support. I need you guys to have my back when I go and ask Lou's family for permission."  
  
"Permission?" Zayn scoffs, "you think you should ask permission? Isn't that a bit too traditional for you guys?"  
  
"Asking my _boyfriend's_ family if it's okay to marry him? I think I'm on the right side of progressive Zayn. But you don't get it. It's not about permission per se. It's more about having their blessing. Because they're important to Louis…and to me too. I want them to wish us well. I don't own Louis and I'm never going to act like I do but I think he'll be happy that I involved them. You-know-who never did things like that. He wanted to shut them out of Lou's life."  
  
"You-know-who?" Zayn smirks. "As in Voldemort?"  
  
"Guys I really don't want to think of Louis fucking Voldemort," Niall moans. "Sounds like a REALLY weird fanfiction. And I've read some humdingers."  
  
Liam gives Harry a look as if to say "who is this kid?" Harry grins.  
  
"Niall, don't you think it's slightly strange that you've developed an obsession with gay fanfiction despite the fact that you yourself are not gay?"  
  
Niall just shrugs.  
  
"It's not just me. Besides, hot smut is hot smut. I'm not fussed. Ash and I hooked up when we first met. And I had a thing for Zaynie too before I realised what a pretentious prat he is."  
  
He grins goofily, making kissy lips in Zayn's direction. Zayn looks like he might be questioning his whole existence or maybe even the possibility of a Ziall mashup. Liam looks threatened. He claps a hand over Zayn's eyes and pushes Niall away with his palm.  
  
"Oi, stop that. Stop thinking about it. And you..." Liam points at Niall, features slackening into a helpless grin, "why aren't you fucking Ash on the regular?"  
  
Harry's struggling to follow the twists and turns of this conversation as it winds around him.  
  
"We hooked up _years_ ago," Niall emphasises, "and besides, haven't you ever heard the saying don't shit where you eat? I've been living off his couch almost 24/7 and now we're moving in together. You don't move in with someone and then immediately start dating them."  
  
Harry stares him down.  
  
"Oh sorry Haz. But you know what I mean. You and Tommo are different. Two years on and we still need pliers to get the two of you to stop snogging. Tagging along with you guys to the movies is like a guaranteed barf fest." Harry grins wolfishly. "Me and Ash...maybe it'll happen someday. Maybe it won't. He's hot and we make sweet music together but I think I've got a few more wild oats to sow before I let myself fall in love with him."  
  
The other three boys shake their heads, swapping knowing grins.  
  
"Oh Ni, sweet boy," Zayn ruffles his hair. "If you think that's how it works then you're in for a rude awakening mate."  
  
Harry nods, watching Niall’s look of terror with a slightly sadistic sense of glee.  
  
"He's right Niall. You're already half in love with him if you're thinking like that. And god knows you only can deny it for so long. Especially when you're living in such close quarters."  
  
Niall's actually blushing. His phone buzzes in his lap and when he looks down, his shoulders jump.  
  
"Ooh, it's Ashton. He says,” Zayn clears his throat, "Nando's and FIFA to celebrate? You're on drinks yeah? Kiss, Kiss." Two kisses Horan? Wow. Sounds like a cosy date night in for the two of you."  
  
"No," Niall shakes his head vehemently, "Nandos, FIFA and beer...that's a bro's night. Right? I've done that with Lou. I've done that with you, H."  
  
"Let me ask you this,” Harry looks down his nose at Niall. “When you play FIFA does he cuddle up into your side even though it makes it harder to press the buttons?" Niall screws his eyes shut, nodding. Harry continues. "Do you let him win just because he's lost too many times in a row?" The poor boy looks suicidal. "Aaaaand instead of slapping your back when you win, does he squeeze your thigh?"  
  
"Oh fuck," Niall drops his head to Liam’s shoulder, "I've got to move out."  
  
"You just moved in," Harry chortles. "Hey Ni, don't stress. We're right about it being an inevitable thing but if you're not ready now, that's okay. The good thing is that you're already over the whole liking both kinds thing. Now you just need to come to terms with the whole being in love with Ashton thing. But it'll work itself out. Promise."  
  
Niall just moans.  
  
"Soo… back to my plans? I need to get their permission. Jay told me I'd have to ask Dan and I'm going to. Not because I think he should have the final say but because it's the right thing to do for Louis. You guys know it doesn't matter for the reasons it usually would. Even if today were to turn into a MAGIC song and Dan were to tell me that I'll never get his blessing till the day he dies I'd still go through with it. I'd still want to marry Louis."  
  
"So what are we still doing here? Let's get you and Tommo hitched!"  
  
Niall pumps his fist in the air.  
  
"Okay," Harry beams at him, "but first....I need your blessing too. All three of you. You're just as important to Louis as his real family and I can't do this without your support. I mean…I would, if I had to. I'd marry him even if Hugh Grant hated him but I know how much he loves you. And how much _I_ love you. So, what do you think?"  
  
"Fuck yeah," Niall shouts. "Marry that boyyyy. No matter what they say! Marry that boyyyy. And we'll be his family!"  
  
Harry snorts and Zayn claps Niall on the shoulder.

  
"Thank you for that impromptu performance Mr X Factor but you'd do well not to lose your voice before you actually make it to the big leagues." Niall's eyes widen and he silently zips his lips. Zayn turns his gaze on Harry. "Okay, H. You know it pissed me off majorly when Lou kissed you-know-who. No, not Voldemort, stop screwing up your face Niall. You look like a baby that’s just pooped itself. Anyway Harry, you know when you first got together I was VERY cautiously happy because things seemed so hard for you with Duncan's trial and Lou's memories of what had happened. But the more I see you together, the more I understand the reasons why you seem to always fall together instead of apart.

“You draw strength from each other. He's an anchor for you, always keeping you grounded in self-confidence and faith. He never lets you believe the things your parents tell you and I know he's always encouraging you to reach higher. To go further. And for him you've been like the answer to a question he never knew needed asking. He's found a home with you and I don't think he ever had that or ever felt that he had it, even as a kid. I think he's probably always been this restless spirit, searching for something or someone to tie him down in a way that didn't feel like a trap. Same as you H. And then he found you. The person he could count on and count his blessings with. A man with all the right words and none of them untruthful. He loves you mate and god knows why but I love you both too. I can't wait for you to marry our little Lou."  
  
Harry's eyes feel thick and he's grasping Zayn's shoulder like a lifeline as he splutters his way through a choked laugh.  
  
"Jesus, you're definitely making the first speech at the wedding. That was beautiful, thank you."  
  
Zayn looks chuffed and Liam looks on with heart eyes, trailing them over Zayn's ring finger like he'd forgotten its existence until now.  
  
"So. Payno. What do you think? You've known him the longest. You know how disgusting we are but you also know everything that we've been through over the past two years. Do I have your blessing to marry your best friend?"  
  
Liam smiles at him and then leans over to whisper in his ear.  
  
"So long as I have your blessing to marry Z."  
  
Harry pulls back with a huge smile and tears glistening in his eyes. He can only imagine how hard it will be for Zayn to keep up his indifference when Liam drops to one knee on the top of the Eiffel Tower and professes his love. The city of lights. How could he say no? Harry doesn't even care that Liam just stole his thunder. Zayn and Liam are going to get engaged within a matter of weeks and Harry could not be happier.  
  
"Harry?" Zayn sounds concerned, watching Harry’s face with troubled eyes. "Babe, what did you say to him? He's crying."  
  
Liam gives Harry a meaningful look. Harry stares straight into Zayn's worried expression with a watery smile.  
  
"He just told me how happy he’d be to stand on either side at the wedding. That's all."  
  
Zayn still looks a little concerned but Liam starts purposely eye fucking him and Harry watches the thought fall right out of his head.  
  
"I think it's time for you to go Liam. If Zayn jizzes in my car, I will not hesitate to charge you for the cleaning."  
  
Liam’s shyness is absent this time as he yanks Zayn into a sloppy kiss and then ruffles Niall's hair.  
  
"Good luck mate," he bumps Harry's shoulder with his fist, "I know you'll be fine. And don't worry about a thing, I'll look after Lou no worries. I've got your back bro."  
  
Harry smiles his thanks and then Liam's jumping out the car, Harry pulling away from the curb as Zayn shouts dirty promises out the window.  
  
.....  
  
"Just wait here okay?"  
  
"Wait here? I'm sorry H but what the fuck? You told us you wanted us here for moral support."  
  
Harry squeezes Niall's shoulder and sends a placating smile Zayn's way.  
  
"I do but I can't take you in there with me. They'll think I don't have the guts to come on my own."  
  
"You don't," Zayn scoffs, "that's why we're here."  
  
"No," Harry shakes his head, "you're here in case I need a fast get away. We’ll definitely need to stop at every fast food chain in the immediate vicinity on the way back. I can't imagine Lou'll be too happy if I manage to alienate his entire family with my plans to propose. Plus I might need to buy a bigger ring. Or a float full of rings. Maybe get some new tattoos too, all symbolising my love for Louis. Do you think he'd be offended or flattered if I got “dat ass” printed on my ribs?"  
  
"You're freaking out.”  
  
"No… I'm not! I’m not freaking out. I was just thinking…maybe today isn't the best day. Like he's had a shit morning, why propose to him when he's feeling like shit?"  
  
"Even if you don't do it today, you could still ask," Niall reminds him.  
  
Harry groans.  
  
"Okay so I'm freaking out! What if Jay thinks it's a horrible idea? What if Dan still hasn't forgiven me for that time he walked in on me blowing his step son against the washing machine? What if the twins refuse to be flower girls together?!"  
  
Niall and Zayn both collapse into fits of laughter. He definitely should have brought Liam instead. Then again Liam is almost just as bad.  
  
"Not helping," he says through gritted teeth.  
  
"Oh c'mon Harry, as if!" Zayn does his signature eye roll. "You're already a part of their family, this is just about making it official."  
  
Harry takes a deep breath and then manages a wobbly smile.  
  
"You're right," he agrees, "and if he brings up the laundry incident then I can always remind him about the time he accidentally sexted me instead of Jay."  
  
Harry shudders at the memory.  
  
"I don't want to know," Niall shakes his head, "but go get some! Or something that sounds less dirty. You can do this."  
  
"Right. Going."  
  
Zayn arches one eyebrow.  
  
"You're not moving?"  
  
"Yeah, okay. _Shit._ No I'm going, Zayn don't roll your eyes!"  
  
Harry marches up to the door and knocks before he can change his mind. He hears the patter of small feet and then the door is being wrenched open by Daisy, Phoebe at her side. Their hair is in matching fishtail plaits and they've each got a baby twin resting on their hips.  
  
"Attack of the twins?" Harry laughs, pretending to go cross eyed with confusion.  
  
Phoebe laughs the loudest, followed closely by Daisy. The younger twins reach out to him with grabby fingers and wide blue eyes.  
  
"Hazzy," Ernest says with a giggle, in all likelihood because he knows he's saying it wrong.

Either that or he’s spent some quality time with Drunk Louis.  
  
"Ernie," Daisy scolds with a roll of her eyes, "you know Harry's name."  
  
"That's okay bud," Harry strokes Ernie's chubby cheek, "I might just have to..."  
  
He digs his fingers into Ernie's sides and the toddler wriggles in Daisy's arms. Ernie squeals in between slobbery giggles, pushing his hands into Harry's face and tucking his chin into his bib.  
  
"Now that you've been punished," Harry waggles his finger at Ernie who giggles again while Harry turns to Doris. "Hello sweetheart. How's my favourite princess?"  
  
Doris blushes, shaking her head as she tucks it beneath Phoebe's chin. She's always like this around him to begin with. It seems "The Shy Twin" is a trend in the Tomlinson family. Phoebe grins and kisses her forehead.  
  
"She's not a princess anymore, H. She just got her fairy wings."  
  
"Oh I see." Harry nods very seriously. "A fairy now Doris? Is that right?"  
  
Doris nods and then bats her curly eyelashes. They're almost as long as Louis'. Almost but not quiet.  
  
"Well is my favourite little fairy going to say hi? Or do I have to unleash the tickle monster on you too?"  
  
Harry raises his fingers in warning and Doris caves, reaching out her arms for him again. He lifts her up off Phoebe and hoists her up onto his own hip.  
  
"Hi Haweee," she mumbles because she actually does have trouble saying his name.  
  
He smiles and kisses the spot beside her eye. She giggles and nuzzles into his chest. According to Louis she's already developing quite the crush on him. Harry just thinks she likes the texture of his curls. Her hands are already in them, playing with Earl the Curl as she winds him around her fingers.  
  
"You can come in H," Daisy says, beckoning him inside. "We've missed you."

Harry grins.  
  
"It's been two weeks!"  
  
Phoebe raises her eyes up to the heavens.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Harry laughs, loud and full.  
  
"Is that a Harry Styles that I hear in my home?"  
  
Harry chuckles and drifts toward the living room. He finds Jay knitting on the corner armchair, Lottie stretched out on the lounge beside her.  
  
"Where's Lou?" Lottie asks.

She stands up to greet Harry, reaching over Doris to wrap her arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek.  
  
"Oh um. He’s not here."  
  
Jay gives him a much tighter hug than usual and pulls back to look at him with concern.  
  
"Are you two fighting, Harry Edward? Because if you’ve come all this way to ask me for advice…then I’m absolutely delighted. What did you do love? There's nothing you can't fix with sex."  
  
"Mum!"

Lottie looks like she wants to neck herself, her eyes sending "help" signals Harry's way.  
  
"What? I'm obviously joking, dear daughter."  
  
Jay winks at him. Harry chuckles, handing Doris back to Phoebe.  
  
"Actually no. That's not why I'm here. I'm, ah--"  
  
Jay nudges Lottie with her elbow.  
  
"Go get your father and tell him to bring his shotgun. Harry's gone and impregnated your brother."  
  
Lottie gives an unimpressed eye roll. Evidently she doesn't find Jay as funny as Jay finds herself.  
  
"No," Harry chuckles,” Actually, I um--"  
  
"Okay no more jokes. Love, what's wrong? You're all pale and shaky. Is my boy okay?"  
  
Harry can see the genuine note of fear creep into her eyes. It's been a bit like that ever since she found out about how bad things really were between him and Duncan. She clued in to the fact that things weren't quite as picturesque as Louis liked to pretend. She also knew almost everything that had happened since meeting Harry but there was plenty that she didn't know. Plenty that Louis never wanted her to know. Harry was there when he told her. He saw her trying to stem her tears and put up some kind of strong front but when Louis started crying, she caved too. Harry had rubbed at Louis' back as Jay hugged him close, the two of them burying shaky sobs in each other's shoulders.  
  
"He's...Duncan was released early. He's not allowed anywhere near Louis or anything and Louis _is_ coping but it's been a bit of a shock."  
  
"Poor boo, I could honestly strangle that man. Forgive me but why aren't you with him?" Jay looks sceptical, "Surely he can't be coping _that_ well."  
  
"Liam's with him. Because I...I needed to come talk to you all."  
  
Lottie cocks her head sideways.  
   
"You still look like you're going to puke. What's going on?"  
  
"I--are Fizzy and Dan around? I need to speak to all of you. Please."  
  
"Lottie, go get your father. Dais, find your sister," Jay says, brow still creased with worry.  
  
The girls hurry away with Ernie bouncing on Daisy's hip. Harry takes the opportunity to calm Jay down.  
  
"Jay please, stop looking at me like you think I'm dying. I promise you it's nothing like that."  
  
"Okay..."  
  
Harry only has to endure a minute more of her intense staring before the rest of the Tomlinson's appear, Dan clapping him over the back in greeting and Fizzy throwing herself at his chest.  
  
"Hey Fizz," he says, smoothing a hand down the back of her hair.  
  
"Harry don't take this wrong way but if you move to L.A with my brother then I _will_ mess you up."  
  
Harry chuckles and taps her on the nose.  
  
"Nothing like that Fliss. We’re staying put just so that Lou can keep grilling your boyfriends every time we come over."  
  
Fizzy moans and pushes him in the stomach.  
  
"Stop being such a drama queen and sit down," Lottie sighs, impatience in the set of her lips.  
  
Fizzy huffs her annoyance but caves to her sister's demands anyway. The four girls squash up next to each on the lounge while the twins hand the babies off to Lottie and Fizz. Dan and Jay are cuddled up on the armchair and all of them are looking up at him with varying levels of confusion.  
  
"So. Thank you for gathering here and for ah, being such welcoming hosts. As usual. You know how much I love coming here and Lou and I really--"  
  
"Harry babe, your rambling is adorable but please let's get on with it."  
  
Lottie winks at him.  
  
Harry smiles softly at her and then settles his nerves with a shaky breath. What is there to be so afraid of anyway? He _is_ a Tomlinson. He's felt like one from the very beginning and Louis' family have never treated him like anything less than a permanent member. He has his own Santa stocking here, his own bathroom towel and whenever they're both here, Louis' family tend to speak about them as if they're a single unit. "HarryandLouis are here." "HarryandLouis, dinner's ready." "I just think you should know that I caught HarryandLouis in the laundry room today and they definitely were _not_ doing laundry." “Really love? Well HarryandLouis have needs you see and wasn’t it just last week that you texted Harry some psychotic suggestion about how to spruce up our sex life? As if it needs sprucing!” “Mum, HarryandLouis’s ears are bleeding. Why must you have a sex life at all?” “I dunno boo, why must your christen your childhood home?” “Point taken.”  
  
"I know Louis' had a rough few years. A rough life, really. I think it's taken him a long time to come into his own. And I don't know about you guys but I'm so proud of him for just getting through that and surviving. But now he's doing so much more. He's becoming the person he was always meant to be. I can't take credit for it, it's all down to his strength and his determination. But when we met, something changed and I believe it changed for the better. For both of us. We're so much happier together than we ever were apart and I know that waking up next to your son...your brother, it's something that I'll cherish for as long as I'm living and able. Perhaps long after that. I love him with my whole heart.  
  
"I love his long eyelashes, his crinkly smile and the way he falls asleep on the couch with Bradley and Hugh curled up on his chest. I love him more every time he opens his mouth and says something obnoxious and completely inappropriate. I love his sketch books tucked into the couch cushions and the way his eyes look even bluer behind his adorable black rimmed glasses. I love the faded scars on his scalp, the way he clings to me when he cries and how he's so appallingly bad at sneaking junk food into our house.  
  
"When I met him, I was terrified of being trapped, of falling in love and forgetting my freedom. But I fell in love anyway and then I found it inside of him. Louis is not like other guys. He's not typically masculine or feminine, he's boisterously loud but soft with need, and he doesn't ask when the challenges will end, only ever when the next one is coming and how to prepare for it. And that's why he's the one for me. He's not like anybody else. He's a walking contradiction but he's _my_ walking contradiction. And I want to be his husband. I want to be the father of his children, of _our_ children. I want to spend the rest of my life making him happy and I hope that you will offer me your blessing to do so."  
  
Harry looks around at the wide eyes surrounding him, searching for something positive to latch onto. Lottie’s eyes have a slight shimmer and Jay's are looking suspiciously red around the corners. Other than that, they’re pretty much one big closed book.  
  
"Fuck me, that was romantic."  
  
Harry's laugh is more of a surprised bark as his eyes snap to Dan's toothy grin.  
  
"Dan, language!" Jay scolds, side eyeing their baby twins.  
  
Her voice is much deeper than usual. Kind of...gravelly. Harry counts it as a success. Dan just shrugs and stands up to shake Harry's hand.  
  
"You can marry him H. Wouldn't dare try stop a man who speaks so highly of my step son."  
  
Harry's eyes feel glassy and round. He doesn't speak for fear of humiliating himself but he does clasp Dan's hand between the both of his, directing a wobbly smile his way.  
  
"Now that you two have had your moment," Lottie sounds snipper than usual, probably because it’s her Time of the Month. "Can the rest of us go?"  
  
Harry turns to face her which is when she launches herself across the living room and into his waiting arms. He struggles to catch her, stumbling backward as her flyaway hair flies straight into his mouth.  
  
"I take it you approve?” He laughs, spitting her hair out of his mouth.  
  
She squeezes him tight and then kisses all over his face.  
  
"Yes I approve, you loser. Of course I do. Can't wait until you get married so I can tell everybody that my best friend is also my brother-in-law."  
  
"Thanks Lots but he actually has to say yes first," Harry reminds her, a grin stretching his cheeks wide.  
  
"And he will. C’mon, you guys were dating even when you weren't dating. Now you’re practically married. So how are you going to do it? What are you going to say?"  
  
"Lottie, you're asking all the wrong questions," Fizzy shakes her head, disapproving. "What we really want to know is...how big is the ring and how much money did you spend?"  
  
"Fizzy!"  
  
"What mum? I'm giving him my blessing to marry my awful big brother, the least he can do is give us the good stuff."  
  
"No Jay, she's right. You guys should know." All the Tomlinson's lean in, eyes twinkling. "So. I'm going to do it tonight when I get home. I'll make him his favourite dinner, we'll watch Grease…of course and then I'll run him a hot bath with plenty of bubbles. When I've got the bath ready, I'll slip the ring into the water in a zip lock bag and then wait for the magic. When Louis gets in, I'll tell him I accidentally dropped the soap in the water and then when he reaches down to find it, instead of finding soap, he'll find the ring."  
  
Fizzy looks unimpressed, pursing her lips and scrunching her face with disapproval.  
  
"You're going to propose to him while he’s dripping wet and naked? Gross."  
  
"Oh. Well I...erm, Lots what do you think?"  
  
Lottie opens her mouth to speak but Daisy cuts in, something that never would have happened two years prior. Harry can't help flashing her an encouraging smile.  
  
"First of all…while the rest of you were making idiots of yourselves, Phoebs and I were actually giving this some serious thought. We have decided..." Daisy looks at Phoebe who giggles and nudges her side. "...That you will make a good husband for our brother. We hope you'll enjoy his smelly feet and burnt noodles."  
  
Harry winks at them.  
  
"I definitely will."  
  
"Secondly," Phoebe says, holding up two fingers, "forgive us our rude sister." She eyes Fizzy with an impressive amount of disdain for a thirteen year old. "It is a lovely idea Harry but you might need to jazz it up a bit. Like, how about if you still run the bath but you let Lou relax in it instead? Then, once that’s done you could take him for a walk to that park near your house. The one with the gazebo and--"  
  
"And you can sing him that song, you know the one. It's just like you and Louis," Lottie snaps her fingers repeatedly, her eyes narrowed with thought. "Oh! Got it. It's called The Luckiest. Ben Folds. You could play it on the guitar Lou got you and then--"  
  
"Then you ask him to dance," Fizzy says with a glimmer of softness in her eyes, "and he'll go to That Place. You know how he does. God we all remember you two making fools of yourselves at James' wedding. Anyway, when he closes his eyes you'll lean down and whisper--"  
  
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," Jay finishes, sounding tearful.  
  
Harry's pretty choked up himself.  
  
"It's perfect. God, it's perfect. Thank you…but do you really think he'll say yes?"  
  
"He better," Dan winks at him, "otherwise that boy's in trouble."  
  
Harry throws his head back laughing. When he raises it again, there are eight Tomlinson's crowding around him and throwing their arms around him in a tight hug.  
  
"We love you Harry," Jay whispers in his ear, "and I'm sorry I was so quiet before, I just didn't want to cry. I couldn't be happier lovely, I really couldn't. Duncan never belonged with us and he _never_ belonged with Louis. You haven't just brought us back together as a family, you've brought us closer than ever before. You're good for this family, H and you're even better for my boo. Good luck darling."  
  
Harry brushes his lips against her cheek and wills himself not to cry. When he woke up this morning he still felt like Harry Styles. Now his mind sings a chorus of _HarryTomlinson HarryTomlinson HarryTomlinson_ on repeat. He’s certain he’ll never hear anything else, no matter what happens with Louis tonight.  
  
.....  
  
"Send Li out will you H?"  
  
"Sure," Harry squeezes Zayn's side, "thanks for coming with me mate. And you too, Niall. I'm sorry I didn't let you guys come in but I think it was the right thing to do."  
  
"It's fine Harry, we're happy for you. Now go make your boyfriend a husband," Niall orders, "a boy like that won't wait forever."  
  
Harry chuckles.  
  
"Believe me, I know."  
  
"He's thinking about sex," Zayn tells Niall, shooting a finger gun down at Harry's ring, "he plays with his rings whenever he's thinking about Louis' arse."  
  
"That's not true," Harry says with a roll of his eyes, slamming the door as he gets out the car.  
  
"Bet you they fuck before he proposes," Niall sniggers.  
  
"Bet you they fuck twice."  
  
Harry just sighs and walks away, sticking his finger up behind him the whole way. Their laughter follows him through the gate and up the path to his front door. Which is where he stops stock still. Liam is pacing along the front deck, biting his nails and sending furtive looks Harry's way as if he thinks Harry hasn't yet seen him.  
  
"Liam. What's going on? Why are you outside?"  
  
Harry's voice is calm and quiet but his breathing is quicker, his heart beating faster than before.  
  
"Check your phone. You said to text you!" Liam shrieks, his puppy dog eyes opening up into oval shaped panic.  
  
Harry's never heard him sound so shrill. Now he's worried. He pulls his phone from his pocket with a sweaty grasp and angrily flicks the button to switch it from silent to normal. When he unlocks the screen, there's a barrage of texts waiting.  
  
Liam: _Tommo's antsy. What should I do? Another episoad of the walking dead_?  
  
Liam: _Okay I think I calmed him down but he's like, weirdly quite? Keeps glanceing at me out the corner off his eye_.  
  
Liam: _Harry!!! He's not okay! He's just berst into tears, I don't know what's happened?! He seemed fine a minute ago_.  
  
Liam: _Shit. Harry come home now. Dont care what your doing. Just come home_.  
  
"Liam," Harry breathes out slowly, eyes watering. He raises his head and finds Liam's eyes in a similar state. "What happened?"  
  
"Oh my god Harry, I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. He just freaked out, there was nothing I could do! I tried to calm him down again but he just kept saying how things are different now and how it’ll all be too hard now that Duncan’s out of jail. He...he was crying so much he could barely breathe. He said he loves you H, he _really_ loves you but he doesn't know if he can be with you when he's not done working on himself."  
  
"He...what? No, _no_." Harry shakes his head, refusing to believe that this is happening to him right now. He just braved the entire Tomlinson clan and got express consent to marry Louis, there's no way this is happening. He's proposing to Louis. Tonight. This is not happening. "That's...that's not true. I don't know what was going through his head but he didn't mean that. We'll work it out. I've just got to talk to him. Yeah, I've got to--"  
  
Liam bars Harry's entry with his muscular forearm. Harry glares at him.  
  
"What are you doing? Haven't you done enough?"  
  
Liam reels back but he doesn't remove his arm.  
  
"I'm not finished," he mumbles and then... "Haz, I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologise when I don't even know what the fuck you're apologising for!"  
  
Harry can't help but snap. He’s vibrating with how badly he needs to talk to Louis. He's sure that if he can just talk to him, they’ll work things out. They always have, haven't they? Louis' scared, that's understandable but as his future husband Harry knows that he can bring him back to a level of calm. He just has to remind Louis why they're doing this, what they’re fighting for.  
  
Liam looks like a mortally wounded puppy. The brown of his eyes is steeped in sadness and the lines of his face form miserable creases.  
  
"He left Harry," Harry's heart drops through his feet and then shatters into a million pieces at his feet. A breathless sob escapes his chest. _No_. "I'm so sorry buddy, I tried. I thought he was fine again and that we'd talked through it all. So I went to the toilet and when I came back out again, he was gone. He left this."  
  
Liam shoves a note into his chest and Harry scrambles to catch it, tears dripping down his chin as he looks at what’s written in Louis' familiar cursive scrawl. His heart contracts and he’s reminded of all the hastily scribbled additions to his shopping lists and the badly drawn penises scattered all throughout his client lists. He chokes back another painful sob, perusing the message for a second time just to look for some kind of sign, some kind of clue as to why this is happening right now.  
  
_Love you so much Hazza. I always will. But I can't destroy you the way he destroyed me. I'm not in a good state and I need to be if I'm ever going to be able to love somebody with my whole heart. I'll be staying at Oli's and Caroline's for awhile...at least until I get back on my feet. Please don't come and see me. Not good for either of us. Love you so much, don't ever forget. So sorry baby xx_  
  
"Why," Harry rasps, trembling all over, "why did he do this? How could he..." Harry’s eyes fall shut as tears trickle down the slopes of his wobbly cheeks, "how could he leave me? How could you let this happen?!"  
  
Harry grips Liam's biceps and then shoves him back against the door with a strength he didn't know he possessed. He shakes Liam hard, rattling his bones while his vision blurs in front of him and a wave of hot, vicious anger rolls across his body. He wants to tear Liam limb from limb and it's like nothing he's ever felt. Liam has to grip his shirt just to shock him back to reality.  
  
"Harry! _Haz_ ," Liam sounds concerned, maybe even panicked. Harry feels downright awful. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry. I really thought he was fine."  
  
"No, no of course you did," Harry pats his cheek, trying to force his lips up in a smile. By the horrified look on Liam's face it's not working very well. "I'm sorry mate. It's not your fault. I just…I wish I'd looked at my phone. I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot and I've lost him. _Fuck_."  
  
Harry slams the heel of his palm into his forehead, shoulders collapsing inward while another sob wracks his body.  
  
"No, Harry!" Liam grabs him by the shoulders, rubbing over his back in soothing circles. "You are _not_ an idiot. And you don't know if you've lost him. I'm sure if you just talk to him, he'll--"  
  
"He'll what Li? He'll reconsider?! Because he seems pretty damn sure of himself to me," Harry rips the note into shreds and then scatters them all over the front porch. "He's not coming back. It’s over. Jesus, how did this happen?"  
  
"Hey, _hey_. I think maybe you need a cool drink and a cold compress or something. I know it's hard right now but I need you to promise me you won't give up Harry. Not ever. I'm so sorry he's left but if anybody can get him back, it's you mate. So just go have a nice lie down, calm yourself down and then tomorrow you can give him a call and see what he's thinking. Okay H?"  
  
It doesn't sound so unreasonable. Even if Harry's whole body feels ten degrees colder than usual and all he really wants to do is curl into the foetal position and weep. But he's not Bella Swan and if Louis thinks he's getting away that easy then he's sure as hell mistaken. Harry loves him so deeply and no matter how hard things have gotten or how hard they’re about to get, that will always be true. So Louis can say whatever he wants about their future but Harry's not giving up. Not now. Not ever. They’re meant to end up together.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah you're right," Harry hauls Liam into a tight hug, comforted by how much smaller he feels in Liam's arms. "I'll see him tomorrow. He'll have to talk to me."  
  
"That's the spirit."  
  
"Zayn will drive you and Niall home in my car okay? I'll come by tomorrow and pick it up. I assumed Louis would drive me over but..."  
  
"We'll bring it by H," Liam squeezes his bicep, "don't worry about a thing."  
  
Harry nods and tries for another smile but he knows it falls flat. He hasn't even dealt with Louis being gone yet and he already misses him. His heart feels like Swiss cheese, riddled with Louis sized holes. Harry knows that if he can't convince Louis to come home tomorrow, this is how his life will always be. They say that life goes on even after you lose someone but Louis isn't just _someone_ to Harry. Louis is his whole god damn world. He's left his mark over every square inch of it.  
  
"Bye Payno," Harry calls as Liam opens up the gate.  
  
Liam raises his hand in a backwards wave. Harry turns back to the door with a heavy heart. The house feels colder and emptier just knowing Louis' not inside. Knowing that Louis' not tucked up in their bed waiting for him like he promised. Knowing that he won't find Louis sketching on the couch or switching between the footie and some red carpet event in an indecisive haze. Knowing that he won't get to kiss Louis good morning. Or fuck him with quiet desperation, Louis’ wiry ribcage arcing up towards him like an exotic bird caught mid-flight. Worst of all, knowing that he won't be walking Louis out to any gazebos tonight or singing to him his own soft version of that beautiful song. He won’t be slow dancing with him around the gazebo or telling Louis that he wants to spend the rest of his life making him happy. It's a stark reality.  
  
Harry's tears drift down his cheeks like sheets of winter rain as he turns his key in the lock. The hitches in his breath increase when he pushes the door open, stomach contracting with heaviness as he toes his shoes off and pushes the door closed behind him. But when he looks up into the vastness of an empty home, a home without Louis, his jaw drops. A startled gurgle leaves his lips at the sight that befalls him.  
  
The blinds are drawn in the living room, the lights dimmed but not switched off. Dotted all around the room in groups of five or six are these fragrant sets of candles. They're all of varying heights and quality, some worn down to nubs while others stand tall and proud, casting cylindrical shadows against the wall. The candles are in differing shades of pink and purple, stationed on boxes, ice cream containers and balancing precariously on the underside of bins and what looks like Liam and Zayn's bedside tables. They emit a deep orange glow, one that bathes the whole room in warmth and fills Harry’s vision with light. Scattered across the entire floor are scores of rose petals in vibrant red, baby pink and clear white. There's soft music playing through the speakers and on the dining room table, a bucket of ice with two champagne bottles sitting in it. But none of it steals his breath quite effectively as the man standing in the corner of the room. His back is to Harry while he cusses out the last candle to be lit, a fragile wick melting beneath his lighter. His hair is swooped over in a delicate swirl and the back of his neck has never looked so inviting, just begging to be kissed.  
  
"Louis," Harry gasps.  
  
He can feel his bottom lip quivering, five seconds away from turning into a pathetic toddler-like wobble. There's just so much feeling rushing through his chest and he doesn't know quite how to express it. Let alone, contain it. It feels as though his legs might actually give out.  
  
Louis turns at the sound of his voice and then he's crossing the floor in two angry strides, cupping Harry's jaw as he thumbs at his tears.  
  
"Oh fucking hell," he curses, eyebrows tented, "I told that prat that I'd rip him a new one if he made you cry."  
  
"Lou, I--" Harry's voice cuts out completely and he cups the side of Louis’ waist in his palm. Just to ascertain that it's really him, not some eerie vision he conjured up in his own head. "Why are you here? Why aren't you gone? Liam said--"  
  
"What I told him to say," Louis assures him, rubbing at his reddened cheeks, "baby, I'm right here. My car is in the garage." He grins now, like this is all a fantastic joke. "Did you actually believe it? Was he really that good an actor?"  
  
"What do you think?" Harry demands, squeezing Louis’ waist hard and burying his eyes in his shoulder. He rubs his cheek against Louis’ shoulder blade, breathing him in deep. He’s floored by the scent of Louis' most expensive cologne and the freshly ironed dress shirt, clearly picked to match his eyes. There’s also a criminally tight pair of slacks stretched tight over his legs, giving his bum the perfect bubble shape. "And why are you---what is this Lou?"  
  
Louis grabs his hands and interlocks their fingers. Then he steps back with luminous blue eyes, flecks of soft teal brought out by the brightness of his shirt. His small, spit slick mouth looks as edible as always.  
  
"I wanted it to be special," Louis says in a quiet murmur, his lips pursed in a sedated, cheeky smile. "And it would have been even more so if you hadn't have gone and put your big foot in it Harold."  
  
Harry frowns, confused. Louis just chuckles and tugs Harry into him again, kissing each of his knuckles before bringing Harry's hands up to rest on the flat planes of his chest. Harry splays his fingers, endlessly fascinated by how much bigger his hands look against Louis' body. Louis rolls his eyes, suddenly less than amused.  
  
"I've been planning for months Harold. _Months_. But I wanted it to be perfect and I wasn't sure, if you um..."  Louis flicks his wrist, "felt like we were ready. I even got that stupid ring from mum." Harry's heart stops. _What ring what ring what ring_. _Is this_ \--- "The one that belonged to my great--whatever. I thought it was a bit sappy myself but when mum told me she'd once promised the thing to you, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So I went to the jewellers and got the thing all done up for you. Shined and varnished. Re-sized. I even..." Louis' bashful eyes meet Harry's. When he sees what's written there, his hands form manacles around Harry's wrists and a sleepy eyed smile curls around his lips. "...I got emeralds put in. Not that it's your birth stone or anything but it's...like your eyes. How fucking awful is that?"  
  
"I love you," Harry chokes out, eyes misting.  
  
Louis settles him with a suspiciously wobbly smile of his own.  
  
"I love you too babe. But you're a right pain in my bum. Ruined it all, didn't you? So I had to make other arrangements. This," Louis spread his arms out around him, "was the best I could do in the time you were gone."  
  
Harry shakes his head, trying to muddle his way through. His heart is still rabbiting along in his chest and he still wants to suck the shimmer off Louis' lips but he has to know.  
  
"How did you _know_? And why did you, I mean if you were never really leaving..."  
  
"I saw your face this morning," Louis' hands roam up the sides of his neck to scrunch in the backs of his curls. "I mean honestly Harold, no one in their right mind is that excited by what they find in a sock drawer. So I knew either you were hiding a new sex toy or there was some other surprise that you’d been keeping from me. Naturally I--"  
  
"Went looking," Harry sighs, trying his hardest to be exasperated.  
  
Louis snickers and presses his lips to Harry's Adam's apple. Harry's hand finds the back of his hair, holding him there as he speaks. The vibrations of his lips send pleasant tingles down Harry’s spine.  
  
"Of course. And what should I find but a red felt box that looks a lot like my own? And--" Louis cuts himself off, looking up at Harry in terror. "Wait! _Please_ tell me it's an engagement ring? Oh fucking fuck, what have I done?"  
  
Harry's laugh is more of a guffaw. He showers Louis' face in kisses, realising just how much of a tit his boyfriend is.  
  
"You didn't look inside?!"  
  
"Well....no!" Louis shrieks, cheeks flaming. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise!"  
  
Harry huffs out a disbelieving laugh. How could he have thought that marrying this one was a good idea? He’s certifiable.  
  
"But it was fine to go snooping through my sock drawer!" Harry rolls his eyes, "you're unbelievable!"  
  
Louis appears contrite, reaching up on his tip toes to tug at the collar of Harry's shirt, his eyes full with remorse.  
  
"Unbelievably cute? Unbelievable in an I-think-you're-bonkers-and-awful-but-I guess-I-still-love-you way?"  
  
Harry blows hot air out his mouth but doesn't protest when Louis slides his mouth over his, dipping his tongue in between Harry's lips and swirling it around his mouth. They press close against each other and Harry's hands find Louis' arse, squeezing tight while Louis pulls the loose scarf from his curls.  
  
"Ugnh--Lou," Louis silences him with a wicked swirl of his tongue, "baby, please. You were talking. _We_ were talking."  
  
Louis pulls back with a reluctant little sigh. His mouth is flushed from Harry's kiss and Harry drags his thumb over the puffiness of his bottom lip.  
  
"Yes, it's an engagement ring," Harry confirms with a grin. "You're such a tit. It was Mrs Dawson's. She gave it to me when we first started dating."  
  
Louis' eyes are aglow, his pretty blue irises reflecting the candlelight around them. He knows too much about Mrs Dawson and her epic love story not to be rocked by the gravity of that statement.  
  
"I'll...I'll have to thank her," he manages in a husky croak.  
  
"Mm," Harry joins their lips, gently cupping Louis' cheeks with his fingers. "It's been a while since we visited her grave. Maybe we should bring some new flowers?"  
  
When Harry pulls back, Louis' eyes are wet and reddened at the corners.  
  
"I'll buy out the whole damn florist."  
  
Harry loves this man with the strength of a thousand suns. He misses his friend dearly but Louis has always understood. He's always been there with a cup of tea and a sweet story to tell every time they visit the cemetery. He never hesitates to grasp Harry's hand between both of his and bring it to his lips, promising Mr and Mrs Dawson that they'll be back before the petals start to wilt. He's incredible, Harry couldn't have chosen better.  
  
"So um," Harry coughs to remove the lump from his throat, Louis flashing him a weak but loving smile. "You said you knew?"  
  
"Oh right," a genuine grin fills out Louis' features and it makes Harry grin too. "I snooped, I found it and I…well I almost marched right down to your car and demanded to know why you thought it was well within your rights to pop the question yourself. Before me. But then Liam came barging in, spouting some crap about Zayn and complaining that we hadn't hung out just the two of us in forever and I blurted it all out. He caved quickly and told me all about your plans to ask my family. And I...I just want you to know that no one's ever done something like that for me. Talking to all the people I love and making sure they support us. I just...I felt like maybe I’d been a bit remiss."  
  
"Remiss?"  
  
"In not talking to the people _you_ love and who love you."  
  
Harry's expression darkens with instinctive protectiveness.  
  
"Tell me you didn't go and see my parents."  
  
Louis giggles, actually giggles and playfully hits out at Harry's chest.  
  
"No, of course not but I did Skype with your lovely sister all the way from New York. Which, by the way, have you seen her office? Fucking huge Hazza. “ Harry laughs, completely breathless. ”She's hit the big time with her column over there. She swears to me that the sight of vodka still makes her want to hurl. And not in the way you'd expect. So anyway, I popped the question. Well, not _the_ question, quit your pouting Harold. But _a_ question about what she thought of me marrying her sweet little baby bro."  
  
"And?"  
  
Harry doesn't think she'd ever actually tell Louis no, in _any_ situation really but then they have had their fair share of "spirited" discussions.  
  
"She said, and I quote..." Louis' grin is ever expanding, ""if you really think you can handle being married to someone who doesn't have a single comedic bone in his body and has the word 'big' printed on his big toe. Someone who cried, _cried_ Louis, when I got rid of my _own_ barbies. Then yeah, marry my lucky stinker of a brother.""  
  
"She really said that?" Harry beams through his tears of mirth. "No forget I asked. It’s Gems, of course she said that."  
  
Louis laughs with him and then tugs him into another firm kiss.  
  
"Mm. Okay, but if you didn't talk to my parents then..."  
  
"Well Liam was right there with me so I asked him straight off the bat and then since you rudely left our boys waiting in the car....."  
  
Harry groans, the slightest bit miffed that he didn't suspect.  
  
"So all this was happening right under my nose? The whole time?"  
  
"Kinda. But what did you expect? You tried to propose to me first!"  
  
"I--" Harry's speechless. "I swear this must be the first time someone has ever gotten so worked up over the love of their life actually _wanting_ to marry them."  
  
"Shh," Louis giggles, earning Harry's fondest smile. "Just let me explain."  
  
Harry waves his hand at him, gladly handing over the reins. Louis bounces on his feet as he talks.  
  
"So from that point on it was all about how to do it and where, you know? Like how to make it romantic because it’s _you_ Hazza. It didn't help when Zayn texted Liam and he told me all about your plan. Fuck Haz, it sounded amazing. So god damn perfect. And I just thought there's no way I'm ever going to be able to compete with that. You were the one who planned our epic first date, you were the one who really wooed me. I knew there was only one way this proposal was ever going to be worthy of you. It meant completely turning the tables on you and putting you through the emotional ringer. I mean… if you thought I’d left," Louis giggles again, the bastard. "How could you say no when you realised I hadn't?"  
  
"You're such a twat," Harry is shaking his head but there's so much love in the burgeoning swell of his smile. "I will never forgive you for that."  
  
"You already have," Louis pinches his cheek, "haven't you babe?"  
  
Harry wrestles him to the floor, rolling them around until he's leaning over Louis and crowding into his space with his arms.  
  
"What was that you were saying? That you're _very_ sorry and you promise to spend the rest of your life making it up to me in sexual favours?"  
  
Louis chuckles and bites the inside of his cheek, eyes skipping over Harry's face as if trying to determine how much he can get away with. The answer is almost anything but he doesn't need to know that.  
  
"No," Louis shakes his head but his smile isn't as coy before. It's soft and happy like the sun flecked ocean in his eyes. "But I promise I _will_ spend the rest of my life making you happy. Making you laugh. Being your absolute best friend Haz."  
  
Harry leans down and kisses him, rubbing Louis' jaw with his thumb and tilting his head downward to find a better angle. So gentle, so dizzying.  
  
"I need to--wait here."  
  
Louis' face forms a quizzical frown and he lurches up in surprise. Harry just scurries off into their bedroom. When he returns, he's holding a little red velvet box.  Louis licks his lips, a nervous habit and then smiles up at Harry like he's looking directly into the sun. Harry falls to his knees in front of him and Louis produces his own little box from his front pocket.  
  
"Harry," he says, grabbing one of Harry's hands and kneading it with his own. "I want you to know that I'm indebted to you. I've never been able to conquer my demons, not until I met you. Then this morning when I found out about Duncan, I felt myself falling to pieces. I felt it all come rushing back like fragments of a nightmare I'd long put to rest. But with you, with your voice in my head and the memory of your arms around my chest, it suddenly held less power. And that's the way it's been since I met you. Everything that felt insurmountable before, every doubt that I had that stopped me from being myself, all of it just lost its power to crush me. You reminded me of all the strength I'd gathered inside, strength that was just waiting to be used. Explored, even. Maybe it's just because you made me so happy that I couldn't think straight. My messy past seemed to fade into insignificance because I got to share your bed every night and wake up with your mouth against my skin. Every time you told me you loved me I felt a little bit further from the self-conscious, sad person that I used to be. But even though I’m indebted to you, it's not why I'm in love with you Harry..."  
  
Louis traces the curve of Harry's cheek with his fingers, brushing them against the halo of curls he never tires of touching. Harry's heart feels full to overflowing, bursting with a love he can't fully comprehend.  
  
"I'm in love with you for all the reasons I fell out of love with Duncan. Because you're soft where he was rough, loving when he was harsh, because every time you touch me I'm alight with feeling instead of just sensation. I'm in love with you Hazza because you wake me up with kisses every morning, more often than you do blowjobs. Not that I don’t appreciate those too.” Harry laughs. “I love you because you wash my hair in the shower and blow bubbles into my stomach in the bath. I love you because every time I look at you I feel like I'm free falling into a great unknown. And it's terrifying in the best way, I love every minute. I love every second with you. I-I want--"  
  
Louis' voice starts to shake and he grips Harry's hand tighter.  
  
"Shit." Louis flutters his eyelashes up at the ceiling, making these little choked noises that pull at Harry's heart. "I swear I would get through this but..."  
  
"It's okay," Harry joins both their hands, swinging them just to get Louis to look at him, teary eyed and all. "I'd love to finish. I love you so much Louis and it's taken so much will power on my part to stop myself from jumping in to save you every time. Because I've seen you falter and I've seen the memories come rushing back to the surface. I never wanted to stop you from confronting those battles on your own though. I wanted to be there when you needed me but I never wanted to detract from how much work you've done to get where you are. You make me proud every day baby and I never want you to doubt that for a second."  
  
Louis sniffs loudly, a sole tear tracing its way down his cheek. His smile is radiant though and Harry stumbles over his own words, his emotions catching up with him in droves.  
  
"I--I just want to wake up with you in my arms every morning from now until forever. Because the moment I saw you I knew something about you was more vast and beautiful than anything I'd ever encountered in my life. Little did I know that it was everything about you. Everything, Lou. There's a reason why people gravitate towards you. A reason why Niall thinks the sun shines out of your arse and Zayn values your opinions more than he does mine. There's a reason why you were the only client Liam ever became mates with and a reason Gemma fell in love with you the very first time you met. There's a reason that your sisters and your brother cling to you like barnacles on a boat and why Dan is more protective of you than most birth parents I know. Most of all, there's a reason why Jay and I will always be on your side, no matter you do. No matter what mistakes you make. We will love you unconditionally. There is a reason Louis, but there's also a reason why Duncan didn't feel that way. There's a reason why not everybody will..."  
  
Louis' eyes are more red than white now and he's sniffing helplessly, fingers trembling inside Harry's. Harry's heart thrums with love.  
  
"And it's because not everybody can understand a work of art when they see one. All the best artists had their critics, their naysayers. People who said abominable things about the art they'd worked on and crafted to perfection. Baby I have no doubt that you’re a masterpiece. I know, the same way that I know Hugh and Bradley are secretly conducting an incestuous affair--" Louis splutters a laugh, "that I will never cease to admire you, for as long as I shall live. I love you Louis Tomlinson and I want to have the honour of loving you for all of your days. Will you marry me?"  
  
"Can I--" Louis hiccups and it looks painful, "see the--"  hiccup, " ---ring?"  
  
"Only you would demand to see the ring _before_ you give me an answer," Harry mutters but he pops the lid anyway.  
  
Louis gasps and then slowly raises his eyes to Harry's.  
  
"It...it matches my eyes."  
  
"Mrs Dawson had lovely blue eyes, didn’t you ever notice?"  
  
Louis brushes beneath his eyes with his wrist and then hastily pops the lid on his own box. Nestled inside of the black velvet is the most beautiful antique ring Harry has ever seen. It's shiny just like Louis promised but there are still tiny scratches on either side of the band, just enough to give it character. The kind of thing Harry appreciates because he knows it's part of the Tomlinson family legacy. The ring is almost identical to Mrs Dawson's but instead of blue jewels, emeralds. There's even a symbol engraved on either side. Or...two symbols. On one side, there's a small rope. On the other, an anchor.  
  
"I got those engraved because I feel like--"  
  
"I know," Harry cuts him off, "I know exactly what you feel."  
  
"Marry me, Harry Tomlinson."  
  
Harry laughs and holds out his hand, goosebumps covering his body.  
  
"Yes I will, of course. But I'm not a full Tomlinson yet.”  
  
"Soon," Louis promises, sliding the ring onto Harry's finger. “Forever."  
  
Harry gently takes Louis' hand in his own and then looks him deep in the eyes.  
  
"Will you marry me?"  
  
Louis looks painfully moved.  
  
"Harry," he exhales in a put upon sigh, "you already--"  
  
"Humour me."  
  
"Yes," Louis breathes, "fuck yes."  
  
Harry chuckles and slides the ring onto his finger. It's a perfect fit. Just like them. Harry can't imagine he'll ever tire of looking at it, of seeing it on Louis' hand. He's never felt like this before. Never this happy or complete. As he leans over to kiss his new fiancé, he knows he's come home.  
  
....  
  
They make love in fits and starts, stopping to kiss each other senseless and admiring their rings far too often to be efficient. Louis still comes with a drawn out moan, white streaking up to his neck and splattering across Harry's chest as Harry propels into him hard. Harry's eyes never close, always centred on him and only him. He comes inside, his lips swallowing Louis'. Their fingers stay intertwined, locked together as Harry rides out the last of his orgasm. Silver against silver. The hook of Harry’s anchor lined up perfectly with Louis’ infinity symbol.  
  
Harry wipes Louis down with a wash cloth and then falls into his side, wrapping an arm around his waist as he pulls him up and onto his chest. They spend the next couple of hours like that, sharing whispered memories, swapping lazy, burning kisses and ignoring the buzz of their phones. Louis' ring feels warm around his finger. As warm as Harry's skin beneath him.  
  
Eventually Louis' had enough of the laying around and he pulls Harry into the living room, switching the stereo to what he vows will be their song from this moment on.  
  
"I love how you like to pretend you're not just a Big Cheese like me," Harry teases, pulling Louis into his chest.  
  
Louis wraps his arms around Harry's waist and buries his hopeless smile in his chest. It’s embarrassing to be this in love with somebody. Or is it? Louis might be a hopelessly adoring idiot but he's never been prouder of the person he's with. Standing up in front of their friends and family together will be an honour. Louis never felt that with Duncan, not even when he thought he loved him. How can you be proud of somebody who's never been proud of you?

But it's okay, Louis is okay. Yes, Duncan is a free man and Louis' memory will always hold the pain of what happened to him but a ghost has been cut loose tonight. Louis never believed in new beginnings until Harry but now he believes in something more. He believes in starting a new life and finding new love. He believes in the eternity of love that starts right here, right now.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Harry looks down at him with his cherry blossom smile and _green green_ eyes. He's gorgeous. Louis is so lucky. Inside of him there's a little blue eyed boy with a bowl shaped cut who never could have dreamed of this. There’s a bruised and beaten young man who never thought this was possible, that he could have this chance at forever.

"Yeah baby?"

"I am the luckiest."

Harry kisses the back of his ring finger, dimples slotting into place.

“Yes, _we_ are.”  
  
_I don't get many things right the first time,  
In fact, I am told that a lot  
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles,  
And falls brought me here.  
  
And where was I before the day  
That I first saw your lovely face,  
Now I see it every day  
And I know,  
  
That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest  
  
What if I had been born fifty years before you  
In a house on the street  
Where you lived  
Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike. Would I know?  
And in a wide sea of eyes  
I see one pair that I recognise  
And I know...  
  
That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest  
  
I love you more then I have  
Ever found a way to say  
To you  
  
Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties and one day  
Passed away in his sleep,  
And his wife, she stayed for a couple of days, and passed away  
  
I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong,  
That I know...  
  
That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know all your deepest darkest thoughts about my story. And the nice fluffy ones. Thank you SO much for making it this far and for being oh so patient and wonderful. I love writing for you x
> 
> P.s Keep an eye out for my oneshot that's on its way, titled Asleep and Dreaming.
> 
> P.p.s For Monica and Chandler who did get married.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought x


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